Validation
by Mstudify
Summary: I know the Reaper's are coming. I know that they can and will wipe out all sentient life in the universe. I know Shepard will die, one way or another, to stop them. The question is, do I care? My purpose is not to be Shepard. I have my own goals, my own mission to achieve. Simply put, "The greatest power of all the universes needed some Validation, and you fit the criteria."
1. LECTORI SALUTE

Looking back, I really had no idea what I was getting into when I started reading fanfiction.

In all honesty, I had simply assumed I would find more people like myself. People who had seen their favorite character and thought "I wish he would have done X instead" or even "This guy is so cool, it's a shame that there is only this one movie to showcase his cool skills." I expected continuations, agreements on existing characters traits.

What I did not expect was the wide sprawling community I walked into. There were divisions and clubs and jargon and new flame wars that I had no idea existed just days before. I was exposed to entirely new genres of writing that swung rapidly between the scales of masterpieces to absolute lunacy. But, it seemed natural. There was a progression and a logic, abet a twisted one, that at the core showcased a bunch of very motivated authors writing about their favorite subjects.

Except one.

I actually scoffed when I encountered a 'self-insert' fic for the first time. I didn't even spare it a second glance; I just scrolled past it and read something with actual quality. It was odd though, as it seemed like the floodgates had opened. Nothing was sacred. All of a sudden, there where these damn self-insert fic's everywhere, clawing at my mind. It was madding, endless, and annoying. So, like all lesser souls when confronted by an unending truth, I broke down. I read one.

It was horrifying. Right off the bat, it appeared that the story was written by some sort of grammatically challenged seven year old. Once I managed to decode the poor spelling and pathetic sentence structure, I found it got even worse. The character had developed some sort of godlike power to control fire or some such nonsense. This combined with the fact that the character had apparently encyclopedia-esque knowledge of events lead to one of the most boring things I had ever seen in my life. There was no conflict. There was no tension. How was I supposed to read this garbage?

Then it hit me. Why the hell did I care? I mean, seriously, I had read poorly made fic's before. I had read fic's with stories so bad they gave me a headache. I didn't really mind those, they just came with the territory. So why did this particular brand of lunacy bother me so?

I took about thirty minutes of intense soul-searching, but I came up with an acceptable answer. It wasn't that the story was boring or the characters were dull (although they were), it was something else entirely. I liked the original story. The inclusion of what amounted to a god in the formula destroyed that original story and left a pale imitation in its wake.

Logically, as a fan of the original work, I felt insulted when it was torn down and painted over. It was at that moment I came to a very happy conclusion. When, and note the use of when not if, I wrote a story, I would be original. I would not simply insert myself into a story and ruin someone else's beauty.

I was wrong. I never went on to write anything, ever. I was just one of those things that constantly ran away from me. School or work or friends was an obstacle that I could simply not overcome. I suppose it could be considered sad, in a way, seeing as how it was once my dream.

I was not totally wrong, however. The idea that it was wrong to destroy the narrative formula with advanced knowledge and otherworldly characters lurked in the edges of my mind for some time, waiting for a chance to be applied. In an average life, it likely would have never manifested.

I think it would be fair to say my life isn't ordinary.

Case of point, let's do a basic run down of my surroundings, shall we?

The air was choked full of smoke that bellowed ominously from the ruins of formally picturesque farmland. The sky was an unearthly shade of red, accenting the carnage this world was currently experiencing. In the distance, great skyscrapers collapsed under the bombardment of synthetic beings, entombing there inhabitants under tons of rubble.

Above all this destruction, this death, a glint of life appeared. A light shining in the darkness, as it were. As the glint grew closer, its features began to shine. It was a spaceship, sleek and smooth. The black, white and red color plate hinted at the hero within. As it arrived at the edge of a small clearing, its identity became clear. The SSV Normandy, an Alliance frigate.

The sight filled me with an unshakable dread.

"Damn," I couldn't help but mutter to myself. "Why do I always lose in the final round?"

It was total bullshit, you know. I had been so careful. I had backup plans for my backup plans and then backup plans for those. I had ships and men and powers the average man couldn't comprehend, but I still had to fail. I could take over a star system, if I truly wanted, yet I couldn't avoid this.

You see, I didn't want to help the great Commander Shepard. I don't want to stop the Reaper invasion. I can honestly say I don't really care for the majority of… beings in this fake galaxy. I have my own goal. My own path. My own destiny. This game is not one I wish to play.

"Unidentified combatant, you are order by the Systems Alliance to relinquish your weapons and turn yourself into the approaching Alliance squad. You are wanted for questioning." The unfamiliar voice burst through the static of my headset, its source undoubtedly from the approaching ship. I was once more threatened to sink into depression, to mule of all the sin of my past and all that I had lost.

But I resisted. What matter now was that Commander Shepard was landing less than a football field away from me and all my hard work was in jeopardy. Running really wasn't an option, I wasn't going to blow my own brains out, so that left one option.

Damage control. I needed to keep this encounter as close to cannon as possible and slip away at the first opportunity. It seemed simple, it was simple. But there was, of course, one hook up.

The Commander and I had… a history. Back when my existence wasn't a threat to this universe, back before I started my crusade, I remember the little red-head that ran on piss and vigor. The girl that I had to give math questions too and share meals with.

I gulped once. I took a deep breath. I made sure my face was fully covered and I sat down on the most comfortable pieces of grass I could find. And I waited.

* * *

_Much Earlier_

"No, no, no. You have to place the money in the cash-credit column, not the cash- credit. The guy removed money from the company, you see?"

No, I really didn't. And the fact that Steven Stealman, what a stupid name, was taking money from his equally stupid pool cleaning business gave me a headache. Hey, don't get me wrong, Stevan could be a nice guy. But the fact is I have to read about the fact he took money from his own company, and that means paperwork. Paperwork means headaches. Headaches mean I will be in pain for the remainder of third period accounting and possibly fourth period math. Whoop- de- do.

"Ohh, okay, I got yeah" I lied "so put the $20 in this column?"

My savior, junior Ralph Phillips, cuffed me in the back. "God dude, you can be so stupid sometimes. You're lucky I'm around for you to copy off of." God, he had the most annoying grin. Damn egotistical jock, but hey, coping was easier than working. Plus, a friend is a friend, not matter how stupid he is. I learned that one the hard way.

I was about to shoot back a snappy retort about his moms intelligence quotient but the overly long bell blared through the school, causing me to jump in surprise. Ralph started laughing just as Mrs. Lantross started yelling at us about assignment 12-5 is due on Monday as my class streamed into the packed hallway, desperately trying to escape her wrath. Ralph and I followed, talking about our weekend plans.

Separating from Ralph, I pushed my way to my locker, trying to avoid getting trampled by my fellow classmates. I always felt like a cow ready to be slaughtered in these situations, but you learn to live with it.

I almost made it.

I think it was my show lace, but I ended up tripping into the nearest wall. Throwing my arms in front of me, I braced for the shock of hitting a brick wall with my face.

And felt a force pull me right back. "Gotcha, friend." The owner of the hand that had grabbed my backpack said.

Common courtesy instilled in my since childhood kicked in. "Thanks buddy." I said as I turned around. To say he was distinctive was an understatement. First, he was wearing suit in the middle of a high school in Farmville. Second, he appeared to be late twenties. Third, he was radiating confidence and people never _radiate_ things, especial from my point of view.

"Might want to watch wear you step next time, my friend." He said with a chuckle.

"Ohhh… yem yea, thanks again. Are you… a speaker or something?"

Another chuckle. "No my friend. I'm simply checking on old friends and meeting new acquaintances."

Well, that's not creepy. Plus I was running late for math. "Well, have a good day." And then I high tailed it down the now empty hallway. I managed to banish mister creepy from my mind by the time I got to math class, but not the feeling of his eyes watching me as I left that hallway.

Sleep eluded me that night. Every time I closed my eyes I got a sadistic dream about Mrs. Lantross accusing me of being a 'degenerate to society'. By 1:00 A.M. I decide that staring at the white walls of my room was better than reliving that again. By 1:20 I decide that playing Angry Birds was much more interesting, which lead to me googling random movie quotes by 2:00.

I final fell asleep at 3:00, never guessing that it would be the last time I saw home in a long, long time.

* * *

**In the future, super boring and redundant authors notes will end up down here. **


	2. Operation: Point Insertion

_Operation: Point Insertion _

_Location: [Unknown]_

_Subject: [Classified]_

_Time: [Unknown]_

Had I known the gravity of the situation I had been unwittingly thrown into, my first thoughts would have been much more observant and motivating. However, I instead decided to focus on the fact that my bed had become inexplicably hard. That one I managed to chalk up to my imagination.

What I could not account for was the fact I could not feel or move my arms. That woke me up very fast and adrenaline only resulted in me rocking wildly as I tried to understand what was happening to me. Total animal panic took over me and I only managed to flop over the side of the bed and land on the floor with a painful crash.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, my friend! Calm down, it's okay. You're safe." A vaguely familiar voice said as it lifted me back onto the bed. The dark room obscured my sight of him, but I had the feeling I knew him as he continued to spout calming words at me.

"Who?... Where am I?" was all I managed to gasp out. But I had managed to calm down slightly, comforted by the fact I was not alone. The sudden flash of lights blinded me once again, and the metal urge to throw my arms in front of my face did nothing. After what seemed an eternity, the light became less blinding, and I could observer my company.

"You are on Ares, an Alliance space station currently on high alert due to the presence of three Batarian cruisers who may or may not be hijacked by pirates."

My brain shut down after the words space station faster than a fire in a rainstorm. All logic dictated that a space station was simply not possible, so I ignored the possibility and determined that my associate was insane. That was weird; I was talking to a delusional person. Funny.

"So, buddy, do you like, take pills every once and awhile. Get put in strait jackets before…" my hesitant conversation was destroyed when the man turned and faced me. It was that creepy guy from my school! Oh god, I was dealing with a stalker crazy man. God help me.

"You don't believe me do you, friend." Suit replied. "Understandable, and one of the reasons you were chosen." His dark face had a stupid grin despite the fact I had just insulted him, and he seemed relatively at ease as he continued to move my arms into the classic soldier position. I would have resisted, but my arms wouldn't move.

"Chosen for what?"

"Well, the greatest power of all the known universes needed some validation, and you fit the criteria. You should be honored, my friend."

"I was chosen to have my arms paralyzed? Jeez, I'm glad."

"Don't speak the lord's name in vain." Oh, God. I would have face palmed so hard if I could. "But the arms are temporary, but your mission isn't. So take notes. Your job is to survive this cycle anyway you can, period. You keep this…" he picked up a Zero Halliburton case, shacking it in my face "… and its contents safe at any cost, or you will lose everything."

I eyed the case curiously, my momentary skepticism forgotten. The Suit spoke so firmly and with such convection I couldn't help but believe him, and I was at a time in my life where I was just begging to believe in something. A combination of intelligence and idleness will do that to you.

"What's in the box?" I asked as he set it down on my lap.

"The code is 777-777. Find out yourself." With a snap of his fingers, I felt my arms again. That caused a great amount of relief, and then fear. This…creature could control my ability to move, why wouldn't I be scared? But my curiosity overrode my hesitancy, and I entered the numbers on the cases digital display.

"You know, 7 isn't the most original… of…" The case swung open to me reviling its contents. All misgivings vanished once I saw the contents; I was in the Mass Effect universe. There were starships, aliens, and space marines. The apocalypse was coming, and I had to live through it. The contents of the case told me this. The case also validated the extreme power of the being sitting at the foot off my bed, if he could give me _this_ he was not of my understanding.

"You understand, friend?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, I will be your mission control and support. The Boss has high hopes for this mission, so don't hesitate to call if you need help… or a friend." He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I couldn't help but try to draw strength from the grip. I was alone in an unfamiliar world, and the fact that someone was there to help meant everything to me.

"Thank you, sir."

He chuckled. "Don't worry kid. I convinced the Boss to give you some help, and his promises are gold plated." His head shot towards the door. "You have a visitor. Don't hesitate to call, friend. Oh, and call me Michael."

"Yes sir." He nodded once, than disappeared as if he never existed.

* * *

What did 'give you some help' mean? I barely had time to think about that before the futuristic space doors slide aside to admit a surprisingly normal human male. He was wearing cloths similar to the ones the both Doctors Michel and Chakwas wore in game, so I could only assume he was a Doctor too. He was looking at one of those clip board thingy's, think their call Datapads, which gave me time to snap my case shut and hold it against my chest like a two year old with a teddy bear.

The snap caused him to look up. "Ahh, your back." He said. "… and you already managed to find your briefcase. You should thank me for that, security had a fit when they couldn't get it open, but I said what was the harm." He said as he started making notes on the Datapad. "Never the less, you recovered amicably."

"Recovered from what?" That caused a reaction. The good doctor's head shot up and he rapidly approached the bed I was sleep, and he drew one of those annoying flashlight things from his pocket and started waving it around.

"What's the last thing you remember?" I did not like the panic building in his voice. Or the stupid flashlight.

Right now though, I had three options. Tell the truth, I remember going to sleep in 21st century Earth, excited about the fact that I was going to see a movie the next day. Second, lie and say I remember everything, hoping I could use charisma to piece together a convincing past. Or third, fake amnesia.

Option one was a trip to the loony bin. Two was a stretch even for my egotistical view of my charm. Therefore…

"Walking up five minutes ago."

"Before that?"

"Absolutely nothing." A string of swear words erupted from the doctor as he abandon his flashlight and almost ran to a terminal on the other side of the room. He pounded on it with a surprising amount of force for his relatively old age. Final, after several minutes of silence only broken with the occasional swear word, he turned to me.

"Do you remember your name, at least?" he asked, rather dejectedly.

"Yes, Ark Thompson." There was a bit of pride in that name. I was proud of my accomplishments with it.

"No, it's not." And he left as quietly and quickly as he had come. I was left with only my thoughts and briefcase for a long time to come.

I didn't sleep again that night. The bed was rock solid, the silence was deafening, and the lights from a random terminal kept me alert.

I passed the time looking at the contents of the case, simultaneously cursing and praising it. I was, in effect, chained to it. But, at the same time, I was entering a state complete separate from that of all sentient beings in existence because of it.

I was still looking into the case when Admiral Steven Hackett walked into the room 10 hours later.


	3. Operation: The Bourne Effect

_Operation: The Bourne Effect_

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: [Unknown +11 Hours since Point Insertion]_

The two parties simply stated at each other. Normally, I would have bowed to the authority of the Admiral standing before me, but I literally had nothing to lose. No family, no friends, no status to speak of. Plus, the contents of the case gave me a great responsibility, one that almost surpassed the ones of the Admiral in my opinion.

So neither of use flinched as we simply observed each other. He looked younger than his game appearances, which gave me a very general scale of where I was in the Mass Effect time line. He had less… shininess on his blue uniform too. Suddenly, he spoke.

"Grab your bag and follow me."

With not many options, I snapped the case shut and jumped off the bed, slight dizzy from getting up to fast. It wasn't until we were walking down a featureless metallic gray hallway with countless other doors leading to similar medical rooms such as mine, I noticed something was up. Hackett seemed to be taller than me. I mean he's good three feet taller than me, and I normal about a six foot even. Everything else about me seems smaller too. What was going on?

Admiral Hackett suddenly froze, mid step. An approaching doctor and opening door paused too. My head was about to explode as a result of so many laws of physics being broken before someone tapping my shoulder caused me to turn. It was Michael.

"You called?" He said with a giant smile.

"Yes sir. Why am I like… 4 foot tall?" I didn't even bother asking about the time stop, best to role with it at this point.

"Cause your about 10 years old, my friend."

"What! Why?"

"The body your mind was placed in was already in existence, and its actions were instrumental to setting up the challenges you are facing now. A direct drop into the galaxy would not have set you on the path the Boss wants you to go on, so your avatar was created for you to assume control over."

Ugh, so many Meta concepts set up. Best to roll with it I suppose.

"Okay then, what did I do to deserve Admiral Hackett appearing at my doorstep?"

A smile. "You'll find out, sooner rather than later." Oh God, that could be horrible. "Also, check the case again when you get the chance, it has some support." Then he did the classic derez from Tron and disappeared, letting the world slowly turn back to normal time instead of a frozen one.

* * *

I had to run to keep up with Hackett's thundering walk, my head spinning from the revaluations I was facing.

It took at least an hour to get where ever Hackett was taking me, which included several stairs and a rather boring elevator ride, all of which was conducted in total silence. Still, it was entertaining. Hackett had to grab me when I stopped to stare at a window that showed the stars in such glory I thought it impossible to understand. And he even slowed down as I was entranced as we walked through what appeared to be a market, with hundreds of unique and exciting stores.

After a while; however, we stumbled upon something familiar. It was the opening location of Mass Effect 3, or rather appeared to be. There were rooms with what appeared to be military housing, a carbon copy of what Shepard was living in during Mass Effect 3. My hunch was only confirmed when Alliance personal entered and exited the apartments.

After even more walking (how did the Admiral do it? He's old.) we reached the end of our journey. A door slide open, and Hackett usher me into what appeared to be his leaving quarters. It was very Spartan, with the standard large desk, terminal, and bedroom.

"Sit." He said as he gestured to the chair in front of the desk. After doing what I assume was locking the door, he sat on the other side of the table, and we once again commenced our staring contest. I couldn't help but wonder what I looked like. Different body, I could be a total Casanova for all I know.

"You truly remember nothing son?"

"Not a thing, sir."

"Damn. I'm going to have to tell a lot of good people some bad news."

That was interesting, did I have a family? "What news, sir?" The Admiral sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes as if he had a headache.

"Son, what I'm about to tell you is Classified. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, sir"

"Good. About three months ago, a group of people knows as Spec Ops Team Delta went missing. One month ago, they returned with heavy casualties and a young child they had met with them. The child was in critical condition due to a type of poison. He had helped the team escape from a prison on a remote world called Aratoht, somehow gaining access to keycodes and weapons."

"And that was me?" Hackett nodded.

"And how is that bad news?" I couldn't help but ask.

"You have no identity. Since Team Delta's my troops, I ran your genetic information in every available database and the majority of… unavailable ones. Nothing came up. The boys from Delta really wanted a happy ending for you kid. And they won't get it."

That shut me up. I mean, how was I supposed to respond to that? I felt… guilty. I had never held a very high opinion of myself, due to nobody's fault but my own. The fact that I had… stolen another's victory didn't seem right. Just another in a long list of inadequacies that seemed to guide my life.

For his part, the Admiral seemed lost as well. I guess he didn't have experience with children, as his truth had been rather blunt and rather hard to understand, even if I was mentally 19. But he did do something right. He got up while I was trapped in my self-hatred and returned with a glass of water.

It was a small gesture, but I helped. I managed to refocus my energy on the task, which was surviving to the end of the future Reaper war. I unconsciously gripped my suitcase tightly.

"So, what happens now, sir?"

"Standard procedure dictates you will be released to foster care, likely an orphanage on Earth with occasional visits to a psychologist to confront any lingering issues." Okay, shit. This is bad. Basically, I have been given the Earthborn starter. Problem is however, I'm not Shepard. I doubt I could cut it in some underfunded orphanage in the bowels of a megacity. Shepard _had_ to join a gang to survive, for Christ sake!

"Are there any other options?" I said a bit too quickly. Hackett seemed to notice and raised an eyebrow curiously.

"There are few. You have been exposed to classified information and need to be watched accordingly." Oh good. G-men were stalking me.

"Can't I just stay here?" I was grasping at straws by this point.

"Only one other child is aboard this station, and that is not her choice. You wouldn't want to stay here."

"Sir, please. I'll take that option." I would much rather stay at my house and watch movies, but that wasn't an option. I was stuck in space, a couple of years before an apocalypse; I'll take what I can get.

"You have nowhere to stay."

"I would stay in the streets."

"Damn, you really don't want to go to a foster home."

"No, sir." Hackett just sighed heavily. I doubt he was used to dealing with those who didn't have military ranks.

"You can stay here for the night, by then, I'll have found you a different location." Wow. That shouldn't have worked. I mean, his an admiral, I should be out on the streets in a second. Perhaps someone up tops on my side after all.

"Thank you, sir. You won't regret it."

* * *

**Thank You For Reading!**

**This is a personal S.O.S from the author. In all honesty, I have had little experience with dialogue and characters in general so I would be indebt to you, the viewer, if you gave me some idea of the quality of this so far. I understand some of you won't wish to do that, which is entirely find and justified, but I can't fix the script if I don't know what is wrong.**

**Thanks for Reading... again**

**With the utmost respect,**

**Mstudify**


	4. Operation: New Friends

_Operation: New Friends_

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: _

_2167 CE/ 3 months post-Bourne Effect/ 16 years before Eden Prime_

Turns out, a different location was harder to discover than anticipated. I had remained in Hackett's care, and had adapted surprisingly well. Every day, Hackett would be gone by the time I had woken up on the couch, which was around 7:00. I would then have some sort of asari cereal, which I avoided for hours on the account that it was _alien_ food.

Then, I would wander the station. It was possibly one of the greatest experiences of my life, and still was. I would spend hours staring at something mundane as a vending machine, entranced by its… futureness? Then, I would use one of the credit chit's Hackett left on the coffee table, and buy lunch. Then I would stare at some other future thing for a while, before returning to Hackett's apartment by 6:00.

Hackett would roll in by 10:00, usually grumbling about the 'damn politicians', and watch the news. I watch intently as well, not only the news but how he worked various things in his apartment. I had learned how to operate the T.V. like thing, but not the microwave, nor the personal terminal. I had a feeling Hackett knew, as he would sometimes operate things very carefully, angling them in my direction. I was grateful. By 11:00, I was asleep and the whole thing repeated.

Thankfully, the plumbing technology of the 22nd century was not all that much different, or there could have been a problem. Clothing was also taken care of, thanks once again to Hackett and the wonders of mail order. Would it still be called mail order? I don't care, but the 'authentic early 21st century recreation' was comfy.

With the essentials taken care off, I had investigated the supposed support that was promised by Michael. Sure enough, next to the… object, was a black square. I assumed that it was a flash drive type thing, but due to the fact that I had no knowledge of the current technology, I could not use it. And asking Hackett was suicide, to many questions and not enough suitable answers.

So, for three months, I waited. Watching and learning. The thought that I could simply _ask_ someone to tech me basic technology stuff never crossed my mind, I was used to understanding. And if I didn't, I would learn, alone. I guess it was the last shred of pride I could hold onto.

Pride did nothing to help what happened next, however…

* * *

It was a totally normal Tuesday. Scratch that, it was an almost normal Tuesday, I had run out of cereal, and thus ate dry instead of soggy cereal. However, besides this, it was a totally normal day. I had lunch, and had stared at a toy store this time. What was most surprising was that they had a miniature ship display similar to the ones that Commander Shepard would have later in life.

Regardless, I returned to walking the hallways. I had not gone more than three steps down the corridor in between the toy shop and a small food store when I heard to most obnoxious banging coming from directly above me. Seriously, it was like someone was trying to climb through a vent using magnets as climbing gear.

Then I looked up just in time to see the cheap ceiling tile collapse as a _fucking vent_ fell and hit the ground with a bang. I had the common sense to jump back and mercifully dodge any of the debris, but the cloud of dust caused me a coughing fit and my eyes water fiercely. I approached the debris, wondering as to the cause of the collapse.

What happened next was… unexpected.

A _girl_ wiggled out of the vent, coughing as well. She looked a little older than me, with bright red hair and a youthful face. She wore white hoody and khaki pants, each pocket bulging with… something. She saw me too, gave me one scan that seemed to pierce my very soul, and simply held her hand out to me. I grabbed her, and helped her up, patting on her back to help the coughing.

When the coughing finally stopped, she gave me the smallest of smiles and held out her hand to shake. She had a very firm grip, and was about to say something when to fire alarm went off.

"Oh fuck, we gotta go!" Then she took off running, nearly yanking my damn arm out of my socket as she dragged me to another vent, kicking the cover off with way to much precision.

"Are you sure…"

"Shut UP, Rook! Get in the fucking vent and stay quiet!" Damn, she was convincing. A thus began a panicky crawl through a bunch of dusty, spider infested vents that was only compounded by the fact that Red (unoriginal name, I know) would occasionally grab my ankle and drag me into a different vent. It was a miracle that I had no claustrophobia, or I would have been cationic for days.

When we finally kicked down another vent that end the rabbit hole trip, I stood, basking in the freedom that standing afforded me… and promptly fell on my face due to my numb knees.

"Lesson number 1, Rook, never stand up to fast."

"If you call me Rook, I'm going to call you 'soulless redhead' till you stop." Yeah, I'm already arguing with the first person I might be able to talk to on this tub. Good start Ark,

"Hey, you owe me from saving you from the station guards, so I will call you whatever I damn well please… Rook."

"Saved me? You nearly _landed_ on me! And you owe me for digging you out of there!"

"First of, there was no digging. Secondly, you shouldn't have been standing there. And I outrank you, Rook."

"Outrank me? When did this happen? You're like... 10 years old"

"For your information, I am 13, and you are out ranked since you decide to enroll in the Terran Collective. A collective I command." The Terrans? From Starcraft?

"What's the Terran Collective?"

"A currently small force of highly trained individuals who stop evil as it occurs in this galaxy!" She said with an unusually high amount of charisma and faith, she had probably rehearsed it.

"And when did I sign up for the 'Terran Collective'?"

"When you gave me this!" She said opening her closed fist, revealing my flash drive. My hands started scraping at my neck in a futile act of denial. I had been paranoid about losing the drive, so I had spent hours triple and quadruple tying knots. It logically should not have fallen… Somehow I had a feeling my 'mission control' was interfering.

"Hey, give that back!" I said, struggling to my feet. She only stepped away, a mischievous smile on her face.

Long story short, I chased the soulless redhead around the station for about two hours, expending about every swear word that my public high school upbringing had taught me. When I collapsed near the food court, Red dragged me over to a poor McDonalds knock off and made me buy her two happy meals on the account of the fact she was my commanding officer.

I didn't mind. It was… nice. To talk and be spoken to. Even if she was pushy. Eventually, we wound he way to her barracks, were we watched some mindless cartoon chatting all the while. I thought I had finally made a friend.

Then, Captain Hannah Shepard stormed into the living room and screamed. "Mackenzie Meetra Shepard, you are grounded!" It was then I accept that I was well and truly screwed.

* * *

**Truth be told, I almost feel... dirty about this chapter. I mean, ****of course**** I couldn't leave the station and ****of course**** I would run into Shepard. It still has a valid in story reason, but still.**

**(Small Rant here)**

**I took the opportunity in this chapter to confront something that always bothered me about self inserts, the technological aspect. Seriously, person is dropped into the Universe and five seconds latter they are hack into Geth like a seasoned pro. Or have a Datapad with them that operates the exact same as a smart phone.**

**For context, you have jumped around 170 years into the future. 170 years ago, Texas wasn't a state, Edger Allen Poe had just released the Raven, and America still had slavery. And your just going to take that in ****_stride_****?**

**No, Just no.**

**(End of Rant.)**

**Sorry about that.**

**I would like to sincerely thank the reviewers XRaiderV1, , and especially ResurgentClone for the advice and guidance. Without them, I would be lost.**


	5. Operation: Covering Bases

_Operation: Covering Bases_

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: 2167 CE/ 15 minutes post- New Friends/ 16 years before Eden Prime_

By the time I returned home (As close as I could get in this universe), it was 10:45 and the soup had grown cold. Oddly, Hackett was simply sitting on the other end of the table, his own food untouched. When I opened the door, reviling myself to be covered in dirt and other nasty things, he seemed able to eat again.

By the time I had made myself decent and had seated myself at the table, the Admiral had finished his meal and simply observed me. The atypical behavior startled me, but I was hungry, and the food was pretty good, so I ate.

"You were 45 minutes late." The sudden words delivered in a matter similar to that of a drill sergeant caused me to jump. I thought I would be used to it by now, but I guess not.

"I apologize, sir. It won't happen again." Truth be told, an angry Hackett was the least of my worries. The effects of 10 hours of hanging around with Shepard could have _huge_ consequences. I mean, the subconscious lessons learned today could fester for 16 years and result in the complete destruction of this galaxy, and therefore me!

Don't believe me? Let's break it down. Shepard falls from the vent. I don't exist, so nobody helps her up. She gets taken by the station security. At station security, a visiting XO named David Anderson talks to her, inspiring her to clean up her act. She then enlists in the Alliance due to the morals Anderson helped her develop. She has a long military career…You know the rest.

So right now, we have no vent, no Anderson, and therefore a totally unpredictable future that could result in a Reaper frying my skin off. Good job Ark, you idiot.

"Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack, friend." The voice from behind me was most defiantly welcome by this point, as was the frozen expression on Hackett's. I turned to revile Micheal flipping through the channels on the HoloTV(?), wearing a white T-shirt and jeans this time. "Do you seriously think the Boss placed you on the same station as Shepard with the knowledge that contact would change the future? You're smarter than that, friend."

A just sighed. "I don't think so, sir. Not anymore." The experience of not being able to operate a microwave was… humbling, to say the least.

"You were chosen. A combination of all factors was considered. The Boss would not give you this job if you were underqualified, my friend."

"Speaking of qualifications, what was up with my 'support?'" I only got a giant smile as he disappeared once more. I turned back to my soup, enjoying my meal as I waited for the time freeze to stop. It was nice to know that my friendship with Red wasn't going to blow up the universe. The little things, you know.

"Why?" Hackett asked, ending my musings abruptly. I took me a few seconds to remember what we were talking about, but when I did, told him a very abbreviate story about my meeting of Shepard. I edited out the illegal bits.

"Miss Shepard. I was wondering when you ran into her. I suggest keeping close to her, you could be a… calming influence on her." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, the first smile I had ever seen him do something remotely happy based.

It made me feel good… not sure why.

* * *

"This is a nice dream." I said to myself. I was sitting in my living room, my living room in 2014, and was enjoying a rerun of Seinfeld. It was the episode where George went to Cuba to trade baseball players for the Yankees. My father, bald glory and all, was playing solitaire on his computer as my mother appeared to be making herself a cup of coffee. I had swim practice in about two hours, and then I would meet with Ralph to see a movie. I was having so much fun, just sitting there, at my home.

Then, as all dreams did, it ended. Strangely though, instead of my normal awaking which revolved around my alarm clock slowing getting louder and louder until I woke up. This time it was an Earthquake.

"Hey Rook! Rook, wake up! We're going to be late!" Okay, that defiantly wasn't a standard wake up. Then it clicked. My eyes flew open just in time to hit the floor that was supposed to be two feet lower than my bed-couch.

"Ow, sorry Rook." Hands dragged me up to sitting position as I tried to get my bearings. I appeared to be in Hackett's apartment, in my standard white pajamas with… Shepard kneeling in front of me. This is either a very weird dream or Shepard had somehow gotten into my (Hackett's really) apartment.

"Red, how the hell did you get into my apartment?" By this point she was searching through her pockets only to produce two candy bars, offering one to me. The other she promptly shoved into her mouth.

"Ush uaesed da aifduaks."

"Don't talk with your month full. Also, why are you eating candy at?" I glanced at the clock, only to rub my eyes, hoping I was seeing the clock wrong. " 5:30!".

She swallowed nosily. "Because I had no breakfast. Also…" She held up a very familiar Zero Halliburton case. "why was this in your vent?". That got me up fast. I snatched the case from her with unusual speed, kicking it under the couch.

"That is nothing. But don't touch it!" Her face had lit up; I had undoubtedly provided her with some great mystery to solve. God help me. "Also, let's get you some breakfast. And no, a candy bar does not count a breakfast." I set out two bowls and began to fill them with cereal.

While eating, she told me why she had woken me up, via sneaking through my vent. Apparently, she had 'weapons education' every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7:00. Truth be told, I was a little concerned with exposing a 13 year old to military grade firearms, but I didn't grow up in a military or hunting family. Until now, I suppose.

I was actually extremely hesitant. From what I could gather, this was a family friend of the Shepard's who Captain Shepard had convinced to give lessons to her daughter. It was… kind intrusive on my part. However, Red had one stubborn streak and I was once again dragged through the space station to a firing range.

Thankfully, I was introduced to… a nobody. I was getting sick of meeting people who defined the Mass Effect universe, and it was nice to meet another person who did not define the games. Anyway, Sergeant York was more than happy to accept me into the fold. After an exhaustive review of a basic pistol, the Hahne-Kedar 1, we inserted hearing protection and moved to a firing range.

After watching York nail a target several times with ease, both Red and I stepped up to the plate. I hesitated for a few seconds, watching the future savior of the universe score several respectable hits. She was on her way to being a weapons expert, all right.

Things went wrong for me immediately, but not the way I expected. I expected to pick up the pistol and be lucky if I managed to pull the trigger completely. But what happens instead scares me. My hands move without the permission of my brain and when they return to my control the target has several near perfect hits.

Puzzled, I look at the pistol and the target. In neither of my conscious lives had I handled a weapon. I repeated the procedure several times before I was convinced I had not somehow dreaming. By 3:00, practice had ended with York calling both of us 'gifted individuals' and 'the best trainees in years'. Shepard had won the shooting contest, but only by a slim margin.

It was… haunting. Usually, a person has a basic understanding of what their capable of and what skills they had mastered. The fact that I did not have this made even myself an enigma without an answer, an enigma that scared me.

"Wow Rook. You did really well, why didn't you tell me you had training?" She had that light in her eye. She was eccentric in most respect, but she was smart. I had a feeling any answer I gave her would reveal one small piece of the puzzle that she wished to solve. That puzzle was me.

"I'm a man of many sides…_Meetra_." I simply laughed as she started beating on my arm. I might just be able to make it through this.

* * *

**Any thoughts?**

**Also, if you figure out what Meetra is a reference too, I will be happy.**


	6. Operation: Eradicating Masquerades

_Operation: Eradicating Masquerades _

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: __2168 CE/ 16 months post- Covering Bases/ 15 years before Eden Prime_

The package felt heavy under my arm, but after almost two years of carrying that damn case around like my life depended on it (cause it DID), it wasn't too bad. Truth be told, I was more concerned about the seemingly random instructions I had been given to get to Shepard's birthday party. I had finally learned to use my Omni-tool's after all this time, with Reds help of course, and the GPS function was taking me directly to what looked like a maintenance hatch.

It was par for the course by this point, but still. When I had my first 15 birthday, I had a cake and a party. If she really wanted to crawl through vents… again, more power to her. I planned to use her gift as hostage for a simi-normal birthday… and my support. She had become quiet taken with the little black box and was hording it.

This would usually be a great sign of friendship and yada yada. However, that box had my support, my only advantage in a galaxy soon to be overrun by giant robot tentacle monsters. It was ironic, by the time I learned how access the flash drive, it was out of my grasp. It didn't help that all my blackmail material was usually used to get the case back. Shepard would steal that randomly as well and I had a suspicion she was trying every combination from 000-000 to 999-999 to find out was inside.

My Omni-tool beeped twice, signifying I had made it to my destination. I looked around the lonely corridor, wondering if I was the only one invited.

"Ark… Help." Warning bells range as Reds voice immerged from behind me. She never called me by my real name. When I turned however, it became clear why. She was glowing blue, with the familiar flames licking off her body. She was a biotic. The fact that I knew this was coming didn't make it easier on her… or me.

The thing was, this wasn't a game mechanic now. It was a… gift that resulted in children such as Kaiden Alenko being abandoned by their parents to corporate entities that then exploited them. I needed to calm Red down, or she could hurt herself.

"Hey Red, you seem rather… blue." Lame jokes might help distract her.

"Ark! Stop screwing around and help me stop" she waved her arms "this!" Or not.

"Okay, okay! I need you to take several deep breaths. You a currently manifesting biotic's." I winced, telling her that might have inflamed the situation. Thankfully, she listened to the first part.

"Good, now, I want you to sit down. I'm going to sit next to you, okay." I was basically treating this as a panic attack. She followed the first part once again, but would scuttle away each time I approached her; roaring about how she was dangerous.

"Red, you're not dangerous, you're my friend. And I'm going to give you your birthday present." I slid the package to her with a kick, hoping this would work. Thankfully, she undid the warping with shaking hands to revile the gift.

"Ha… I figured you would find out." It was a model of SSV Everest, one of the Alliance's Dreadnoughts. She was crazy about ship models, that was why she had been in the vents the day I met her, she was trying to see the top of the model ships on display in the toy store.

As she gazed at the small ship, her biotic's slowly flickered to nothingness. I sat next to her, wondering how I had managed to screw up my life so much I ended up here. But the smiling kid beside me made up for it, just a little.

I took a small breath, and began preparing my friend for a life that was forever different from the last. That, I had plenty of experience with.

* * *

_Time: __2168 CE/ 17 months post- Covering Bases/ 15 years before Eden Prime_

Truth be told, I was rather proud of the way I had handled the biotic situation. After calming Red down, I managed to convince her that telling her mother was the best course of action. The conversation was going swimmingly until the Captain suggest enrolling her in a civilian course run by a group called Conatix Industries, which had Alliance support.

For those of you not aware, this is the program Alenko was enrolled in. The program run by an ex-turian mercenary that broke a young Girls arm for simply wanting to get a glass of water. The same program that put the dangerous L2 biotic implants in children, implants that caused such things as insanity, crippling pain, and headaches. I reacted… poorly. I couldn't allow my friend to be exposed to that, and the fact that cannon stated Shepard got the L3 was little comfort.

In true Deus Ex Machinma style, however, news that Alenko had killed the instructor blasted over the news a couple days later. Captain Shepard discontinued that idea. Red truly dodged a bullet there. Things settled back into their old rotation, only difference was that Red would glow blue when upset or angry, which worked for me.

I should have known the universe would take it all away.

I had just left the public extranet terminal, where I had taken a test for my online education courses. The courses… infuriated me. I was an 18 year old with decent intellect forced into an eighth grade curriculum, and the fact I knew half the stuff from history class was wrong didn't help.

The Prothean's created jack, and the Reapers were the true result of their demise. I had put that on a test answer once and had been assigned a remedial course as a result. Stupid idiots.

As I went to drop my backpack off at my apartment, I fell. This time however, I ran into someone.

"Ohh… sorry, sir." And then I looked up. It wore the face of a man, the uniform of an Alliance Major, but he couldn't have been either of those. The area around him seemed to glow with red malice and his cybernetic eyes glared… hungrily.

I once though people didn't radiate things, but I meet three people who did. Michael radiated confidence, Red radiated leadership, and this thing radiated wrath. And it had an iron grip on my shoulder as it stared at me.

"Don't be sorry, we've been looking for you, excursor." That sent bad vibes down my back. You don't want people like… it, looking for you. Ever. And what the hell did excursor mean?

"Ummm… I think you have me confused with someone else."

"No, no, excursor. You are exactly what we want." The grip was joined by one from his escort, who seemed to materialize out of thin air. They had nothing on Michael, however.

"Hey, man, what's the big…" I got a cuff to the back of the head that stunned me, ending my tirade. I was never in a fight before, so the fact that someone had clobbered the back of my head threw me off. I was more or less dragged through the station that had become my home, but nobody seemed to notice or care the state of my duress.

I managed to return to my senses as we entered one of the VIP shuttle bay at the top of the station. I reacted on instinct, shaking my arm lose and delivering on punch to the goons face. If the universe was on my side, the goon would have had a glass jaw and I have grabbed his gun as he went down. Using my skills, I would shoot the creature on my left and run to tell security. A few bad dreams, but I would be fine.

Reality ensued. The goon saw the punch coming, and rolled his head to limit the damage, like a profession solder would. He then used one of the most basic self-defense moves, tripping me and using my arm to roll me. With my face and arms immobilized, a strong right hook ended the fight. It was in the monsters favor.

As the warm blood streamed downed my face from my nose, I had just enough time to wonder if it was broken before the monster produced a syringe from his coat pocket, flicking it theatrically.

"Now, now, Mr. Broodston. I told you not to damage the excursor." The needled was stabbed into my neck as I struggled to get free, to no avail. My vision blurred as my heartbeat became unbearably loud. My arms dropped comically to my side as all my strength left me, and the voices of the monster and his goon became distorted.

I felt my eyes close, and my last thought was of a brilliant sunset, a sight I had once ignored at home.

It wasn't fair. Not at all.

* * *

**Honestly, I felt fun time with Red was a getting dull. **

**So I took on a task I'm not sure I'm a good enough writer to write... mental anguish and torture. Yea, happy times are not ahead. Also, despite my best intentions, I ended up writing in an opposite to Michael and the Boss. I hope it doesn't blow up in my face.**

**Question Time:**

**XRaiderV1: Nah, I was going for muscle memory. From they guys life I took over when I entered the new world. Thanks for the Review!**

**Michae1ange1o: Remember, the briefcase is randomly hidden. Not carried around. On the credit chit thing, Mass Effect is _very_ vague on how they work. I'm not sure if they can contain information like a USB, which I need for the story. Fun fact, I was originally going to use a Chit but... ^. Thanks for the Review!**

**DarthXayri/**Michae1ange1o**: I am very happy you got the reference, its nice to know that people can catch obscure references I though only I would get. **

**Thank you all for reading. Truth be told, the timing on this chapter feels a little wonky. but being this is a self-insert, I feel you might want game material and not necessary my stuff. **

**Please wish me luck... sorry I made you read so much author notes. :(**


	7. Operation: Brick Wall

_Operation: Brick Walls _

_Location: [Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Classified]/ [Classified]_

_Time: _

_[Unknown]_

For the second time in recent memory, a needle was stabbed into my neck, this time injecting liquid energy into my bloodstream. The previously blurry room came into sharp focus as I felt cold medal cut into my wrists, an empty silver table sitting in front of me. I naturally started to struggle against the restraints, only to find my legs and wrists tied to a skeletal chair. The chair was, of course, bolted to the floor.

There was a presence, just beyond the range of the single light situated above me. It was human, or human shaped, wearing dark clothes as it seemed to examine something in the darkness.

"You are going to answer all my questions with complete honesty and totality; otherwise, you are going to experience a great deal of… unpleasantness." His voice sounded like acid eating through my ears, drawing the syllables out in a manner so… inhuman that I thought I might have been wrong with my initial assessment.

"Where is your homeworld?"

"I… what?" The effect of my answer was felt immediately. The quietest of a buzz was the only warning, as pain shot through every nerve of my body. I didn't resist as my head shot back and an animalistic scream issued forth, only to be amplified by the small chamber. My skin was on fire, my brain an unrecognizable quivering mass of jelly. I lost control of my body, convulsing widely as the pain gushed into my muscles like a wave.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it ended. My body tried desperately to fold into itself, to hide from the pain. The chains stopped that, leaving me to pathetically stare at the ground, torso forced forward in an attempt to get into the fetal position.

"Where is your homeworld?" the man said, voice slipping into my ear like a snake. I couldn't decide if the shaking was from the voice, or the pain, but it was likely a combination of both.

"E…Earth." My voice was almost indecipherable from the pain, and the spasms cause my teeth to clatter loudly upon themselves.

"Lying will be of little use to you here." The buzz sounded again, and I felt the pain began. It was so old and familiar, but the intensity was blinded. I bit my tongue, hard, but he pain was miniscule to what I was feeling. It seemed to last forever, stabbing daggers into my head. Then it ended.

I had just enough time to turn to the side as my stomach emptied its contents on the ground. The acid mixed with the blood from my tongue to form a disgusting paste that lapped upon the seat.

"This can stop any time you want it too, Mr. Thompson. Or perhaps I should say James Ford, the last name you so effortlessly cast-off. It matters little what you choose to call yourself, but do answer the question. Where is your homeplanet?"

It was at that moment I realized no answer I could give would be enough. He wanted a star cluster, a solar system, some location with tangible evidence that I knew would never exist. The pain and the realization crash down upon me like a brick, and my hope was extinguished.

With the last of my strength, I dragged my head up, wanting to see at least some humanity in this world of pain. All I saw was the dark suit of the man, his face obscure. But one thing did stand out. He had a pin on the lapel of his jacket, which burned with an aura all too similar to that of the man who brought me here.

The symbol on the jacket was burned into my mind with more intensity than any branding iron could. A downward triangle, only to be broken by a circle in the middle. They were blood red, a symbol of wrath. I knew that symbol was connected to the man who brought me here on some instinctual level. It was my end.

A new wave of spasms ended my inspection, and I resigned myself to my fate. I realized I was crying, the salty substance streaming down my face as the pain started to overtake me.

"Pleases… why?"

My torturer had a smile in his voice as he replied. "Why, prisoner 24601, don't you know? You're an alien spy, and this is simply what happens to all spies."

The buzzing started in my head, warning of the oncoming pain. By the time it reached me, however, I was far beyond its reach in the dark void of oblivion.

* * *

_Subject: [Classified]/ The Technician _

The smile slipped away just as soon as it had come, a deep frown replacing it. He would have to request extra payment for this subject; it was not his usual fare. With that thought in mind, he began to 'clean up' his workstation. A single flick of his omni-tool returned illumination to the dark room, and he turned to gather his tools from a table previously hidden the darkness.

The remote; however, was very carefully placed in a padded container that the Director had provided for him. It was a shame really; the technology that went into the remote and the thing it controlled would have greatly easy future endeavors. But a contract was a contract, and the credits were worth it.

He was half-way to the door before he remembered the other asset that the Director had given him. A short call later, a paramedic team rushed in, attempting to run several tests with the various tools they had brought. Each one gave the classic red 'error' reading. The medics, there disappointment palpable, loaded the subject onto a stretcher and chartered him back to the labs. More experiments, no doubt.

He appreciated the scientists, however. They were seekers of truth, like him. Their codes were just slightly different.

The Director was waiting just outside the door, his piercing eyes already digging into the technician. Perhaps it was the cybernetics in them, or the glow this man seemed to give, but he just felt _wrong_. The interrogator had work with many people of many backgrounds, but this was the first that was simply… disquieting.

"The subject is not what you implied. He is a special circumstance, and unique circumstances result in an increase of my fee."

He didn't even blink. "You read the contract, this was covered within it. Take care where you tread, scrtator, you are neither indispensable nor faultless." He was almost tempted to laugh, despite the Directors stature. He was the best at what he did, and he knew it. The Director could not get rid of him as well, it was already far too late in the game for that.

"Regardless, consider my proposal. Have you managed to gleam any information I can us in our sessions?" Dangerous ground here, but if the employer wanted the job done right, he needed every ounce of information on the… thing.

"Every scan we take of him destroys our equipment. Every attempt to open the case or access the information stored on his data disk has proved equally worthless. It is better than I could have hoped." With the majority of his clients, the Technician would have simply ignored the last part as some little eccentricity, but this man not his usual patrons.

"Better?"

"It is proof, scrtator, proof. Proof that he is not human and not of human origins. With that established, we can turn to… more fruitful pursuits." Not for the first time, The Technician wondered who he was working for. This organization had given him remarkably little to identify themselves, besides the pin they insisted he wore. The emblem upon it was unfamiliar and an extranet search produced even less.

The fact that they were humans who had captured an alien who certainly _looked_ remarkably human lead him to suspect that they were some black ops organization working for the Alliance. They were equipped enough to be. Elaborate bases and top of the line technology such as this was not cheap, yet they used them with abandon.

"If you truly want information, I will require leverage. A single scan from almost three years ago and some surveillance footage hardly counts as such." His employers' eyes glowed threating.

"You were hired to follow your orders, scrtator, not request new ones. You will proceed with the instructions given and find the information on our friend." Sensing his dismissal, the Technician left. He returned to his quarters, had a decent meal with a wonderfully aged wine, and fell asleep without a doubt in his mind.

* * *

**Before any of you ask, no they are not Cerberus. The emblem I describe bares no similarities with the Cerberus logo. That, for your information, does not mean they are the good guys. I had the main character tortured for god's sake. **

**That sequence, in retrospect, was actually very fun to write. Trying new things and researching was fun, at least. And now I sound like a sadist, good job me.**

XRaiderV1: **Thanks for the review. I was really tempted to make them Cerberus, but that seemed to… cliché.**

Cthulujr: **Thanks for the review! I actually kinda am worried about going this far back; it has a lot of empty canvas that needs to be filled till I can return to the familiar world of the games.**

Michae1ange1o: **Thanks for the review! I find your logic impeccable. Nostalgically speaking, it was extremely funny on my first ME2 play through when mega-millionaire Hock had a credit worth maybe ten dollars in his couch cushions. Good Times**

**Thank You all for reading and until next time.**

**Mstudify Out.**


	8. Operation: Breaking Defenses

_Operation: Breaking Defenses_

_Location: [Interrogation Chamber, Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: __[Unknown]_

Hello, my name is James Ford. Is it? Yes! No. Surely. I was born around 11 years ago. Was he? Possibly, no probably. He truly doesn't know, maybe it was 10, maybe it was 13. He was raised a slave in Batarian space. What, slave? Yes a slave. He killed something? An animal… no a plant? Actually, it was his master. Master? Yes, his master. Punishment, master was a politician. Prison? Most definitely. Didn't like prison, he was alone. Made some friends, yes I did. Said they were Alliance. What's an Alliance? Didn't matter, stole for them. Escaped, yes I did. Hurt, yes. Went to sleep.

His name was James Ford and I had killed him.

Hello, my name is Prisoner 24601. 45 days, I think. That's how old I am anyway. Neither father nor mother. I just happened, had to help Ark. Ark is in bad shape, I think. He misses home horribly and dreams of it every night. He misses his new home too, Hackett's respect and Red's friendship. Poor Ark, I needed to help him with the pain. They asked so many questions, he can't answer any of them. Or won't. I'm proud of him for that, so we take turns with the pain. I exist to help Ark.

His name was Prisoner 24601 and I created him.

Hello, my name is Ark Thompson. I was born January 13, 1996 in the United States. I had a very loving family and a very normal life. Until two years ago, when the Boss needed some validation and sent me into the universe of Mass Effect. It was, and still is, worth the struggle to prove him right. I had friends and supervisors, and they helped me on my quest. Survive the Reaper invasion, keep the case safe. That was it. It went wrong, I was captured. They want to know things, odd questions. They think I'm not human… I'm inclined to believe them. I don't know where the case is, but I'm alive, so it must be fine. For 45 days, my life has been the interrogation room or the lab, nothing else.

My name is Ark Thompson and I am him.

* * *

They had switched up tactics. Usually, they enjoyed the electrocution method mixed in with some sort of fire or ice torture. My best guess was that they were using a _very_ mild version of incinerate and cryo blast for the former, but the electricity was still in question. I had very little time to think, they were overly fond of drugging me to sleep. Until now.

They were depriving me of sleep this time. It must have been three days at least since I had actually slept, drugs or not. Every time sleep would come, the buzzing would start. The buzzing alone was become enough at this point, but if it was not, a (comparatively) minor shock was administered.

I was insane. This I knew, for on the second day I heard voices. Ford, the annoying little bastard, had come first. He blabbered on and on about wanting to go home. Like he knew what home was, the idiot.

601 came soon after and I enjoyed his company infinitely more. He was rather like… me. Considering that he was a hallucination from my mind, that fact was not entirely unexpected. What truly endeared me to him, however, was the fact he had answers about the bandages.

In my rare moments of sanity and in between sessions of drugs/pain, I had noticed various bandages were over my body. 601 seemed to think that, since I was an alien, my captors were attempting to understand my biology. To do this, I guess they needed to get a look at my… insides. That realization caused at least two panic attacks, but I was past that now. I just didn't think about. Yep, I don't think about it.

The voices were gone now. Which was good, less voices equals less insanity. I think. But I was hurting again. Three days without sleep just hurts. My eyes felt horrible, my muscles screamed at any motion, and my headache was just… consuming. I just wanted sleep, please, that was all I wanted. The worst part was my vision. My eyes were open, but I didn't see. Just smoke and clouds, binding me to the present. I wanted sleep.

"Well, well. Are you ready to cooperate Prisoner 24601? The level of pain you are about to experience is totally dependent on you." Prisoner 24601? I'm not Prisoner 24601, my name is… damn. I am both Prisoner 24601 and Ark Thompson. Got to keep it together man, hang on.

The being shifted like a shadow in my vision. "Tell me, what is in the case?" My blood ran cold at the mention of that damn case. It was my mission, the contents of that case were crucial to my fate. The stakes were high now, I couldn't let anything slip.

"Case? What case?" My addled mind raced to find an excuse as my body wound itself tightly, preparing for the pain. It didn't come. Every time a word passed my month that wasn't an answer, I had been shocked. This time I wasn't, which was a problem, they were on to me.

"The case you so carefully had hidden within the walls of Admiral Hackett's apartment. While we are discussing the case, I feel it prudent to ask you about the OSD as well. We had quiet the hard time grabbing it from Miss Shepard you know." An uncharacteristic flare of anger traveled through me and I lashed out against the shadow, despite my restraints. The fact that he jumped away only amplified my rage.

"If you touched her, you scum, I'll fucking…" A faint buzz cut me off as the electricity started to flow. My threat was turned into a scream as the pain felt even more intent due to may lack of sleep. I thought I smelled burning flesh, which was probably my own. By the time it stopped, my threat had been sufficiently forgotten.

"Now, now Prisoner 24601. You need to learn your place. Unfortunately for Miss Shepard; however, nobody will ever be touching her again."

"What are you talking about, lunatic."

"Miss Shepard suffered a… unfortunate incident a week after your capture. She's dead."

She's dead. She is dead? Who's she? Sure as hell can't be Commander Shepard. You even seen footage of Mass Effect and you know that. A small giggle formed in my throat, and it grew and grew. Soon, I was laughing with such abandon that all I could hear was my own laughter, so much so that Ford joined in. Kill? Shepard? Dear god, this guy was an idiot. He had no clue, what a chump.

Then I got shocked again, bastard. Problem was, it didn't stop. The shocking went on for what must have been hours. My noise began to bleed and it still didn't stop. Then my vision started to funnel and it still didn't stop. Prisoners 24601 started talking hysterically, something about stopping the pain, it still didn't stop. Then he punched me. I was dimly aware that the shocking stopped but the punching, the pain, the lack of sleep, and the voices culminated in pure anguish.

I just wanted to die. So much.

"Scrtator, stop!" his voice cut through the darkness like a touch, ending the punching. I had stopped felling the pain and only knew because the constant pressure to my face had stopped.

"Sir, he is almost ready to talk."

I heard the distinctive sound of a punch and then a body hit the ground. "Leave us… NOW!" Something scurried away and I thought I saw a brief light when a door opened and closed.

Then I felt a hand lift me from the table. It gently turned my face, seemingly assessing the damage. His hands were callous, but they were all I had right now, the only true hint of compassion in the entire world of my existence. I almost worshipped them.

"Who is your handler?"

There was no hesitation when I answer the man who had captured me and tortured me, simply because he was the only kindness in a sea of evil.

"Michael." The hand fell away almost as fast as it had come, leaving me to lower it painfully to the table. I missed it immediately.

"Michael. He is a good one, despite his crimes. Do not doubt him. It is a shame you will never see him again."

"What happens now?" I asked as the darkness started to overtake me.

"Now, you become mine." And the darkness washed away it all.

* * *

When I awoke again, I felt the changes rather than saw them. No chains. It felt like years since I wasn't bound in some way. Also, no drugs, my mind was far too clear.

That was a bad thing. The last time my mind was this clear was when I had been granted no sleep for several days, allowing the drugs out of my system. I opened my eyes to find… nothing.

I was fully clothed, sitting on a cot in the middle of an empty room. Oddly enough, I was wearing boots. I never wore boots; as I was more of a running shoe guy myself, so that totally blew my mind. Why was it mind blowing that I was wear boots and not mind blowing that I was being tortured in the Mass Effect universe?

"Blame the drugs." I whispered to myself. Don't listen to voices in my head, and blame the drugs. A sound strategy.

"Voice detected, welcome Prisoner 24601." A green light sprang from a panel close to my bed, showing a holographic projection of that pin the technician was wearing. Odd, it seemed much less sinister when added to a feminine computer voice.

"Who are you?" Then I flinched, waiting for the buzz. I was always electrocuted when I asked questions. The symbol just rambled on.

"I am A.I. assistant designation 481-515-234-2, created by director Dracul to assist Prisoner 24601 in…." I stopped listening after that. Dracul, that was his name. Dracul… the man I was destined to kill. Every shred of honor and justice I could think of demanded I would have to kill him. Media demand I kill him. And… I wanted too. I had been ripped from my home (twice), sleep deprived, threatened and tortured. The majority of that was his fault.

The goddamn problem was, I wasn't a killer. I had never killed a person, anywhere at any time. How could I kill the guy with no training, the wrong state of mind, and no weapon? People don't just wake up a say they will kill someone, not normal people. I needed great emotional distress, which I might have, but it was dull.

I could be experiencing some mild Stockholm syndrome, it was only logical. He stopped the beatings, so I owed him… somehow.

"Goddamit." Why can't my emotions be simple?

"'Goddamit' is not a valid search query 24601, what is the meaning of 'Goddamit.'"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Goddamit is a curse. You use it to imply negative connotations to a person or event."

"'Goddamit' logged. Thank you prisoner 24601." I wasn't prisoner 24501, I was Ark Thompson. No we were the same… were we? One was from Colorado and enjoyed watching comedies; the other lived in the Mass Effect universe and was an alien. The same, yet different… What the hell was I just thinking?

"Please call me Ark, and I shall call you Twos in exchange." I really was not going to list of numbers to talk to the (illegal) AI, even though its purpose was likely to spy on me for Dracul. Just because it would stab me in the back was not an excuse to be rude.

"Analyzing… changes commenced. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ark. Warning: Training about to commence in 70 seconds." The previously green symbol turned blood red and the dim lighting that illuminated my ten by ten featureless room had gone into what appeared to be an emergency setting. The red glow was ominous, it frightened me. I didn't want another… session.

"Uggh… Twos, what's going on?"

"Prisoner 24601, step forward." Two lights that looked speciously like feet had lit up on the floor, beckoning me. I rose unsteadily from my seat and took a step forward onto the lights, my new boots booming heavily. It felt wrong to give in, do what I was told, but they had broken me. I feared the pain.

"30 seconds to combat trial. Please, pick up the weapon."

"What weapon?" I asked stupidly as the floor before me started to raise, Arthurian legend style. The pentagon rose up to my chest and slowly folded back to revel… a blade. If this was a stereotype land, it would be an awesome katana that glowed purple or something. As I picked it up with shaky hands; however, it seemed to be a simple machete, with one side serrated and a simple wooden handle.

It was well past a foot and one half long and had the triangle/circle emblem that Twos was showing burned into the medal over the top of the handle. I swung it a few times, meeting a reassuring swoosh each time. Why were they giving me a weapon?

"Training simulation beginning… Good Luck, Ark." Then all the lights shut off. For a single perfect moment, all there was darkness and me breathing. Then, a panel slide down to revile a pure whiteness the blinded me.

With no other options, I walked into the light.

* * *

**And introducing something you have never ever seen in an SI fic... an AI! **

**[sigh]**

**I guess I have just become too attached to clichés , so an AI had to come I suppose. Also, the split personality thing can be as big or as little as it needs to be, I suppose. I would really appreciate your thoughts at it.**

**Questions:**

CigarChomper: **Thank you for the review, my friend. On the detail, I think it might be best to expand upon that in my mind. On the power, I had one rule going into this fic. Avoid the Mary Sue at all cost. I guess I failed, the pistol thing was a total mistake. I shall strive to fix it. Once again, thank you for your guidance.**

**That's all for this time. Thank you very much for reading.**

**Have a good one.**


	9. Operation: Spartan Trials

_Operation: Spartans Trials_

_Location: [Combat Center, Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: __[Unknown]_

During the explosion of DLC in the late 2000's, EA was determined not to be lost in the struggle. They quickly took their award winning game, Mass Effect 1, and attached two major DLC packs to it. Bring Down the Sky was well received and expanded upon the Batarian's, a previously obscure group in the franchise.

The other DLC pack was a huge failure, to put it lightly. Pinnacle Station only had 4 hours of new gameplay, which used recycle environments to shoehorn players into some pseudo-multiplayer modes that only served to highlight the faults of Mass Effects gameplay. The in-game justification for this was a virtual reality simulator that was used to keep the various special force of the galaxy in top shape, a concept later to be reused in the Mass Effect 3 Citadel DLC, with the Armax Arsenal Arena.

But why do I care about this as I blink away the light that blinded me, a machete resting uneasily in my hand. The answer is quiet simple; I was in one of these chambers. A cityscape literally rose from the ground in front of me, skyscrapers souring high into the sky and the darkness of the city engulfing me. A dull gray sky had materialized above me, greyed by smog and cloud. They even had associated garbage on the ground and graffiti on the walls. But it was empty, not one person could be seen on the streets.

"Ark, this is Twos, I will be your guidance for this mission." The unseen voice caused me to jump slightly, bring my blade up in front of me in some pathetic attempt at a defensive stance. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, but the tone was defiantly Twos.

"Your mission is to find and kill the Tenth Street Reds leader three blocks west of this location, avoiding attention and returning to this point within one hour. You are starting now, Good Luck." As the echo of her voice faded, shapes began to appear on the sidewalk. I stood entranced, as they formed perfect replicas of people. A store owner manned a formally empty shack, selling datapads. A mother and young child pushed through the crowd as they went about their business. Skycars appeared overhead, forming lanes of traffic that snaked through the sky… it was very beautiful, in a way.

"KID, hey Kid!" I turned to revel a cop charging me with a hand very firmly on his handgun. I froze like a deer in a headlight, allowing the cop to easily catch up to me. He stopped a couple feet away, hand cautiously on his pistol.

"Son, you better explain why you are walking down the middle of the street with a giant knife right now!" Ohhh, that makes since I suppose. If I saw a guy with a giant knife in the middle of Main Street, I would be cautious too. These simulations must have good AI.

"I… My father is a butcher a few blocks west of here."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "There hasn't been a butcher in this area in a long time, kid." The pistol was fully out now. "I want you to put the knife on the ground and step away from it, now."

I took one look to the right, and then bolted left into the crowds on the side walk. As I tried to push past the projections that certainly felt real, I strained to keep the machete angled so it wouldn't hit myself or the (fake) bystanders in my mad rush. I awkwardly dodged a fist directed at my head from a heroic businessman, but I still felt it brush against my head. Seeing a dark spot to the side of the crowd, I leapt into the alley and tumbled into a trash heap.

Thank god it certainly didn't smell like it looked.

Releasing a sigh of relief, I stood up, dusting myself off and attempting to regain my lost sense of direction. The sun was to my left or at least the ambient glow of it was, hidden by buildings and clouds. Jogging slightly, I stuffed the machete into my belt loop to avoid notice as I enter the other side of the street.

As inconspicuously as I could, I 'sauntered' down the street. With a machete. In 2169. Yea, I really had no idea what I was doing, but the fact I was doing something was sufficient enough for me. I did notice that at least three people gave me odd looks, than ran to the other side of the walkway. The feeling of alienation was very unpleasant.

I did manage to shake that feeling away when stopped in front a four story apartment building that just screamed 'drug den'. The graffiti on the wall and a man wearing a red bandana over his face gave me a fairly clear idea that this was what my objective.

Time to go to work.

Puffing my chest out, I marched confidently past the guard and was about halfway through the doorframe when it all fell apart. The thug grabbed the back of my shirt and threw me onto the ground. The primal urge to get back onto my feet took over and I had lifted myself on all fours, which simply gave the thug a very good opportunity to kick me in the stomach. I collapsed, gasping in an attempt to get air back into my lungs.

"Are you retarded or something? Seriously, only Reds can enter this building you stupid fuck. Get out of my sight before I waste you."

Well, I had the right building, at the very least. It was time to play my only trump card. I mentally blocked the pain and ripped the machete from its hiding place. Two strong steps was all it took before I thrust the blade into the throat of my opponent.

It felt surprisingly… good. The hologram's eyes were all I saw as it made some surprisingly lifelike whimpers and gurgles. But the eyes, ohhh, the eyes. The eyes that were so cold and steely just a second before were now so weak, flashing with fear and confusion. I watched as the hologram slowly derezed into nothingness, the eyes burned into my memory.

I shook my head roughly. I had no time for this. I walked into the building, observing the futuristic but decaying surroundings. There were only two rooms on the first floor, what appeared to be a reception desk and an employee break room. There was a staircase the beckoned me, problem was two gangsters guarded its steps. They appeared oblivious to their friend's demise.

So I took a clue from virtually every video game and movie ever. I picked up a beer bottle and threw it into the employee break room. Unlike every video game ever, the two goons simply ignored it. I frowned, that was literally my only plan. Grabbing a rather large rock this time, I chucked it onto the reception table, smiling at the very large ping it made.

The two guards did move, grabbing an assault rifle and shotgun respectively from their resting places and approached the table. That was my cue to tango. I crouched and walked the few feet to the stairs with admirable silence. I took three steps up with the utmost care and was feeling very confident when reality threw me a curve once again.

I got shot.

True, being as that it was a simulation, I wasn't dead when I felt the four mass accelerated rounds hit me in the back. But it wasn't like I was getting a massage either. I lurched forward, nearly skewering myself with my own machete when I ate a face full of wooden stair. Mustering my strength, I rolled to the right just in time to avoid a burst from the assault rifle.

Slashing widely, I managed to cuff the shotgun wielding goon in the side of the face, making him screech loudly as he brought his hands up to his face in pain. Knowing I needed to move, I pushed forward and jabbed the machete down into the area between the neck and shoulder blade of my assault rifle loving opponent. He dropped like a stone.

I had no time to enjoy my victor as I received a shotgun blast to the stomach. I managed to maintain my footing as I stumbled back from the force of the shells. My back hitting a wall, I turned and ran into the break room, seeking cover from the onslaught. Stupidly, my opponent followed me. I grabbed the tip of his weapon and managed to twist it away from me before I took another shot.

The bastard hologram still tried to punch me, but I leaned back and dogged the blow. With him over extended, I maneuvered my blade into his gut and stabbed up under his ribcage. Needless to say, he was departed. I allowed myself to collapse slightly onto the wall, trying to ignore the dull throbs that were surely going to welt by tomorrow. Curiously, however, the shotgun did not despond like the two other weapons I had encountered.

I had never handled a shotgun before, so I quickly looked over the weapon. It certainly didn't look like the ones in game, but my guess was it was some sort of a civilian model, which explains why a gang had access to them. The trigger was a bit hard to find, but when I did, it modeled to my hands easily.

"FIND HIM!" a large thumping that could only be someone running down a flight of stairs echo through the building. Hefting myself up, I pointed the barrel of my new acquisition in the general direction of the stairs, while attempting to use the wall as cover.

The moment a flash of red jumped down, I pulled the trigger. True to the luck I was having so far, I nearly knocked myself on my ass due to the recoil, but I did hit the gangster with the shot. Compensating slightly, I fired a second shot, destroying him due to his lack of shielding.

Remembering my mission, I reattached my blade to my belt loop and quickly advanced up the stairs. Finding nothing on the second floor, I moved on to the third. I had to dodge behind an overturned desk when some joker tried to shoot me with his handgun. I stood up and fired a quick shot, which totally missed, but did drive the guy behind the corner.

Wanting to keep him down, I stood and continued to fire at the wall as I slowly approached him. That strategy was working well, but I forgot one of the main rules of mass effect, overheating. The annoying little beeping broadcasted the fact to me and everyone else. Throwing the gun to the side, I had just enough time get my pseudo sword into position when the guy leaned out of cover.

With his body still hidden, I chopped and removed his arm. He fell back screaming in pain, and I ended it with a slice to his face.

"Damn" my gun had derezed. Gripping my weapon tightly, I advance up the final staircase to confront my target. The last floor had four rooms which he could be hiding in, all very small apartments. I quickly opened the first door on the left, finding no signs of life. The first door on the right was completely void of any and all furnishings.

I approached the second door on the left cautiously. It was already open, and a soft light was pouring through it into the hallway. Remembering my time limit, I rushed into meet… nothing? A bed, small dresser and bathroom were all that meet me.

I was half turned when a boot hit me squarely on the hip and sent me spinning over the bed. I recovered as quickly as I could, dropping into a crouch on the opposite side of the bed as my opponent. Figuring that if he had to kick me he couldn't be armed, I leaped up and rushed him.

"Shit" I murdered under my breath. There, dangling from his arm was a fully formed omini-blade. How? Dear god, I thought they didn't even exist until the third game, and that was a long time from now.

"You're going to die now, Prisoner 24601!" His voice reminded me of the technicians far too much for my likening. Battling the shivers that seemed to inhabit my body, we started to circle each other like heavy weight boxers. I moved first.

Reversing the grip on the machete on instinct, I swung at his neck. With his free hand, he batted my arm down and raised the omni-tool to stab me. Attempting to mirror him, I blocked his wrist with my left hand and brought my right up, pushing his blade down and away with my face. Seeing an opening, I grabbed his omni-tooled hand (his right one) with my left and brought my knife downwards; seeking to stab him similarly to the assault rifle wielding foe I had killed down stairs.

He saw it coming, and with great ease he grabbed my right arm, and used his strength to pull it down, awkwardly pining my arms in a weird entanglement. Trapped, I could only watch as he brought the omni-tool to my elbow, causing me to drop the knife when the VERY real blade burned my skin. Sensing an opening, he pushed the machete away, sending it skittering under the bed. I tried to grab his sword hand, but his fist zoomed to meet my face with a prefect punch. Thoroughly disorganized, my opponent deactivated his omni-tool and threw me into the dresser. It collapsed under my weight.

"I hope you understand this is nothing personal," the inky voice of the man I was sure the technician said. "But I kill all my subjects, even the alien ones."

That settles it. It was the technician. The man who had made my life a living hell for a good two months and had broken me. I saw red.

Pushing myself up, I launched at him, consumed by my rage. He simply reactivated his omni-blade with a flick of the wrist and thrust it at me. But my rage didn't blind me this time, it focused me. I grabbed his arm with my left hand and immobilized his wrist with my right, preventing him from deactivating the omni-blade. Pushing with all my might, I slowed pressed the blade to his neck, where his eyes finally dissolved into the terror that I desired to see from them.

I basked in the feeling for just a second, before I ended him.

I reared my head back and hit him square in the face like that barbarian I was, causing him to reel back from the head-butt. My rage blocking all feeling, I twisted his arm so that the blade affixed to it sliced into his neck, cutting his head clean off. Fully taken from the insanity within me, I let go of his hands and kicked his body, before it had a chance to fall. It flipped onto the bed and lied still.

I hit the ground at the same time his head did, his lifeless eyes staring into me as I collapsed from exhaustion. I don't know how long I stayed there, simply staring into the eyes of the first man I killed. I think I threw up, but my mind was far away from reality by this point.

I was dimly aware that I finally moved, reaching under the bed for the machete before heading down the stairs of the gang headquarters. I somehow got the very real blood off the machete handle before hiding it within the folds of a jacket that seemed to have materialized from somewhere.

I didn't see when I returned to the extraction point, or notice the virtual city evaporate around me. I marched quietly into my small living quarters, find a door to a bathroom that wasn't there before. I do remember staring into a mirror, into my eyes.

The eyes of a killer. The eyes of a murder. The eyes of a monster.

My eyes.

* * *

**This was a fun chapter to write, thinking up the fight choreography was exhausting in and of itself. I had to literally act out some scenes before I could write it properly. Did you guys manage to follow it? I hope so.**

**Questions:**

**Doombug: Thanks for the Review! Although I am really sad to see you go, I will still take it as an absolute complement that you read 8 chapters before doing so!**

**Michae1ange1o: Thanks for the Review! Hmmm… that is an angle I had not considered I suppose. I totally agree with you on the hidden talents part and shall attempt to expand upon that within the story!**

**Thank you all for reading! Have a good day!**


	10. Operation: Gloomy Hope

_Operation: Gloomy Hope_

_Location: [Living Quarters, Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: __[Unknown]_

The chamber was dark, unnaturally so. The silence was oppressive and it weighed upon me like a stone that I could not move. I couldn't understand the complexity of it. I only knew that I had to move. The stone dug into my back and my feet grafted to the floor as I pulled with all my weight, finding no result.

"What do you think you're doing?"

It was him, the man. The first man I killed and the first man who had killed me. He was there behind me in the shadows, doing his duty still, past his death.

"Do you really think you have what it takes? People like you are cheap, worthless. You'll live your pathetic little life without a spark of importance, helping nothing and changing no one."

He was in front of me now, obscured by the pain and shadows that my life had become. I opened my mouth to stop him, to refute his horrible truths. Nothing came out, and I stood there as the dumb, mute idiot that I was.

"You think you have what it takes to survive the coming times? Days that will break the strongest of heroes? No, you will beg for death before your time comes. It's simply what pieces of scum such as you do and have done since the beginning of time. To never be remember and to be forgotten from the books of history, a fate they deserve."

The liquid rose steadily from the ground, coating my knees then waist in a sticky past. It was at my neck before I realized it was blood, metallic and warm as it seeped into my throat. I wanted to throw up, to swim to the surface but I was frozen.

"It's a mercy I will not even let you see that fate, murder."

* * *

I jolted up from my cot, coughing horrendously as I tried desperately to get the blood out. It was in my lungs, on my skin, drowning me. I scratch at my throat, desperate to get it off. I rolled, trying to get out of the putrid liquid. I hit the ground with a thud, knocking what little air I had out of my lungs.

I was running out of time, my vision clouding as I tried to get the blood out of my lungs. I was still in the lake of blood, I had to be, but with no time left I opened my month to breathe in… air? Air. I gasped it down like a starving man in the desert; feeling my muscles relax and the horrible pain in my lungs desist. I laid my head on the cool metal floor, desperately trying to chase the dream away.

"Ark, do you need medical assistance?" The all too cheery voice of the AI spy was upon me. Her, I guess 'it' technically, was designed to assist in my training. Training was apparently a very broad term: so far, she has monitored my calorie intake, energy output, accuracy rating, and hours sleeping. My mother wasn't as attentive.

Mother. I missed her. Terribly. I suppose I was mental prepared for a long time away from her, as I had been accepted to a college on the opposite coast. But not the sudden and complete absence that permeated a transition to a new universe. For all intent and purposes, she was… dead. That was a very hard pill to swallow. I usually managed to push the empty void away, but now, as I sat in alone in a facility where I HAD MURDERED A HUMAN BEING, the darkness crept in.

"Ark, please answer the question."

I huffed at the insistent mother hen. "I don't need medical assistance, Twos."

"Ark, if you are fine, why do you cry in your sleep? Our files indicate crying is a response to pain."

I winced. Pain…that was something I had become familiar with. My hands still shook from the memory of it, leading me to believe I had develop some form of nerve damage from close to 50 days of physical torment. It was a constant of my life now, and my once steady aim I had boasted was gone. I was forced to relearn how to handle a firearm, the shaking was so intense.

But Twos was not asking about cuts or bruises, she was asking about something deeper. The thing that made human's human, the soul. Something that was… taken from me, but the tatters of it continued to cling like the stench of blood that still reeked from my hands.

I exhaled slowly. "It is because I am in pain."

"I shall summon the medical team Ark."

"NO! No, please, just no more doctor. I can't… face them." These doctors were the ones who cut me up and poked me to see what I was; I couldn't face something with that kind of power. "It is… not physical pain."

"My databanks lack a suitable explanation for the pain you describe, please elaborate." Oh God. I finally removed myself from the act of staring at the floor, standing and moving to my workbench. It had been installed when I was in yet another simulation (without the revelation of a living person at the end) and it signified my only contact with a sentient non-computer based being I had encountered since my last conversation with Director Dracul.

On it sat my machete. It was a curious thing. Every other time I had been given a weapon, it appeared from a vending machine like system that placed the weapon neatly and quietly upon the workbench. Once done, Twos would make me place the weapon on the bench and it would cycle out. But the machete never left. I practiced with it constantly; it was sometimes the only thing to do for hours on end.

I twirled it confidently. I found that having the machete was a constant, and focusing on the constants was something that had always helped me think in my previous life.

"Imagine for a moment, or simulate in your case, two directives. Being shackled, you have to follow both. One directive is to never kill another person. The second is to protect yourself at all costs. One day, you kill someone, someone who was attacking you. Simultaneously, you have both failed and succeeded. How are you supposed to react in relation to your overall purpose, which was the success of both directives?"

Did that make any since? It was the best I could do; I am basically trying to explain morality to a computer. And that was just the psychological issue of killing the technician, not the explanation for the crying for my missing friends and family. That was another situation entirely.

"I have… no conclusion available. We will divert extra processing data to the question when convenient." I frowned. I was actually hoping for an answer, even if I was wrong in killing that man. I was basically swimming in a sea of self-contradictory ideas, with origins ranging from religion to society. I _needed_ to know if what I did was right or wrong.

I needed to.

"Ark, shut up. This is the real world, there are no absolutes anymore. Yep, this is the real world, not a video game… not a video game." I found myself repeating that sentence more and more these days. I needed a distraction.

Picking up the machete, I walked over to the panel that hid the simulation chamber, waiting for it to open. There was some hidden system that determined the weapon I was carrying, and would set up a simulation to test those abilities. Getting shot with pellets was a very good distraction, plus I would fulfill my quota.

The stupid quota. I had to fulfill a number of simulations at any given time or what few liberties I had were taken. This included, but was not limited to, sleeping time. However, they still enjoyed the shook therapy more than that.

"Loading simulation. Good luck Prisoner 24601." The door opened, reviling a tropical setting. Several paramilitaries in stereotypical black armor milled about between the palm trees and huts, wielding assault rifles and the like.

I sighed. I was going to kill something soon, why did I have to kill something. I was… enjoying it. Oh, don't get me wrong, the self-hatred of breaking nearly every moral code was present. But when I killed something it… felt like winning. Like I was finally accomplishing something with my life. And that was scary.

But what choice did I have?

* * *

"Ark, wake up."

Something was different. I might have been mistaken, but Twos seemed to have… tone. Robots don't have tones. It almost felt like she was conspiring, but again, an AI doesn't conspire.

"Ark, please wake up." Groaning, I rolled up to my sitting position. Usually, once the 'p' word was used, shocks were soon to follow. It was part of the weird relationship I had with the AI. My best guess was that she (it) had two directives; keep me operating at peak capacity and to get my peak capacity higher. This lead to the awkward position when she had to shock me to train me 'properly', yet also keep in the best health possible.

Banishing my internal musings, I sleepily walked to the worktable. Once again, something was wrong. Only the knife sat on grease covered space, contrary to my normal morning routine of operating a rifle of some kind. I gripped the machete, basking in the comfort a weapon provided. What happened next surprised me.

The workstation rotated to reveal a terminal. Not just a terminal, but a terminal with a display that clearly showed it had extranet connection. My mind froze. You don't give sub-human (really non-human apparently) test subjects access to information stores while you're testing on them!

"Seriously? This is obviously a trap Twos."

"Ark, one of my objectives is to ensure you are operating at your best. Although your species has the unique ability to seemingly disrupt any medical scans know to science, my database has access to many advanced medical records. Your actions are correlating to early stages of depression combined with minor displays of moral insanity."

I looked up sharply. "I AM NOT INSANE! This is real." I cannot have my sanity questioned; I had shattered my psych in that torture chamber to preserve it.

"I know Ark. That is why you are going to push the button on the terminal." I sighed. Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, I reached forward with my shaky hand and pushed the button.

And it ringed. Like a Skype call back home, it rang. My arm dropped down and I simply stared at the odd display going on in front of me. I was making a phone call?

"WHOEVER THIS IS BETTER HAVE A GOOD FUCKING REASON FOR CALLING ME AT 3 IN THE DAMN MORNING!"

A broad smile spread across my face, I could recognize that tone anywhere.

"And here I was thinking we were friends. It's nice to hear from you too Red."

I would be lying if I didn't find a little bit of pleasure from the gasp that echo through the call. Friends were… good friends were rare. I was once one of those kids who tried to walk alone, weary of others. However, you just have to step carefully in who you trust, because they can expand your life greatly.

My wonderful self-reflection on internal happiness where rudely interrupted when a banshee like scream erupted from the terminal. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU ARK! YOU LEAVE WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE, NOT EVEN ME YOUR BEST FRIEND, MOM WAS WORRIED SICK! THEN HACKETT WALKED IN, TOLD SOME BULLSHIT STORY ABOUT YOUR UNCLE FINDING YOU, THEN LEFT! WHY TO…" Fearing for my eardrums, I quickly hit the mute button.

"Is that… standard human female behavior?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Sometimes, when people worry about the safety of something important to them, the fear manifests as anger. That's what… Miss Shepard appears to be executing."

"Noted."

I reached to unmute the call, but paused, reviewing the conversation in my head. Looking up, I quickly verbalized my question. "So apparently, I'm in the care of my 'uncle?'"

"The cover conceived by Director Dracul revolved around your acquisition by your late mother's brother. This brother was a merchant who commonly left comm buoy networks, allowing the 30 Coins to operate on you without fear of any significant examining from either Admiral Hackett or Captain Shepard."

I nodded. I need to know if Meetra asked too many questions what vague answers I could give. The thought of asking her to help me escape was… not logical. It would put her in danger, something that I could not allow, neither on a personal sense or a 'good of the galaxy' sense. Plus, all evidence pointed to the organization (I guess there called the 30 Coins?) being an Alliance organization of some kind. All human staff, access to secret Alliance military bases and Alliance material, etc.

Shaking myself from my philosophical reflections, I pushed the mute button once again.

"…ARE YOU IGNORING ME NOW? ANSWER DAMMIT?" Jesus Christ, she was bossy. But endearing.

"Sorry Red. What were you asking, I couldn't hear over the sound of someone shouting."

I could imagine her trying not to smile at the other end of the call. "Well, look who grew a backbone. But seriously, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

"Jeez, Red. I'm guess I am somewhere in the Traverse, based on my extranet reception." The lie was… heavy. I was an okay liar I suppose, as nobody can make it through life without a little bit of that skill. Yet, this was my best friends, and my only one. If the situation was reversed, I would sure as hell want to know that she was in some militaristic death camp, but it wasn't.

Plus, in a couple of years, she would be savior of the galaxy. She deserved to be a kid a little longer.

I heard her hum thoughtfully. "Well, as far as excuses go, it's not terrible. BUT you should have called sooner!"

"And what? Ruin the surprise?"

I could _hear_ her shaking her head at me. "Dude, your surprises always suck. Plus, disappearing for… 9 fucking months does not count as a surprise, it is counts as heart attack. You're lucky me or Mom doesn't fly to where your sorry ass is and pick you up!"

I frowned. "First, language. Your 15 and not in the army, you have no good excuse to swear. Second, my surprises rock. You totally freaked out when I got you that model ship."

"I was freaking out because I was glowing blue! Your crappy gift had nothing to do with it. Also, I am like, 3 years older than you, you can't force me to do shit." I face palmed. Why must she always swear? Besides, I was like… 20 years old chronologically, I way out ranked her. As I open my mouth to say something very witty however, she cut me off.

"Ohhh… speaking of blue, did you hear? Mom is sending me off this station! I get to go to a military camp on Earth specifically for biotics and its…" For the next ten minutes, she talked in an amazingly high pitched, fast voice about a new military school based in England that specialized in Biotics, as I gave the necessary affirmations and questions when needed. She was quiet excited.

And I thought military schools were punishment.

A slight ping alerted me to the reality of being a lab rat once again. That ping served as my first wake-up call, I would get two more before I was shocked awake to begin my morning excesses. I sadly informed my friend that I had to go, using the excuse that my Uncle needed me.

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. " Well… Okay. You better call me in less than a week, Rook. Also, Mom is going to want to talk to you as well. You better call or I get in trouble. And any trouble I get into well be placed on you Rook."

"Well, I can't make promises, Red. But I will try, okay." The words came out far more bitter than intended.

"Hey, don't brood! It really doesn't fit your smug face!" and with that the line went dead. I leaned back just in time to hear the second ping as the terminal rotated out of my view. I exhaled and stood. My machete still in hand, I twirled it slowly as I approached the wall that would soon slide away to face the killing fields.

As the third ping range, I lifted my head to the green emblem that sat by my cot.

"Thank you, Twos."

"Of course, Ark."

And I ran forward into the training grounds, felling much better.

* * *

**Ahhhhh… What I wouldn't give for a decent skill at dialogue. Anyway, thank you for all the Reading , and waiting. I just… ran out of motivation, I suppose. Not really sure why, but it happened, and that's why this chapter took so long. **

**Also, I feel obligated to warn you. The Next chapter might destroy this story. The idea I'm mulling over could kill interest and make the story cliché. But hey, I haven't had an original thought yet, have I?**

**Questions:**

**Michae1ange1o: Thanks for the review! The trick seems to be making a powerful character that is fun to read but not too good or else he is boring. That's harder than I thought, to be honest. I 'discovered' the Western a year ago and sort of fell in love with them. My current favorite is the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, simply for the diversity of the characters and the moral ambiguity. **

**Guest: Thank you for the positive encouragement. That seems to be something I lack of late.**

**CigarChomper: Thanks for the Review! Sometimes, I specifically go into the bowels of fanfic sites looking for mary sues. It seems they ALL have katanas and are obsessed with purple. I couldn't help but go for something different, and I found the machete oddly… symbolic. **

**Thanks for Reading!**


	11. Operation: Tortured Apprentice

_Operation: Tortured Apprentice _

_Location: [Command Center, Classified]_

_Subject: Director Dracul, [Classified}_

_Time: 2169/ 14 years until the events of Eden Prime_

Satisfaction was not in his nature. It was a piety and vain emotion that had no place on the never ending battlefield raging within the hearts of all men. So Dracul did not bask in it, he instead passed it on as if it was an unwanted meal, giving it to his lackeys instead.

Today; however, it was more like a feast, and Dracul took pleasure in savoring every bit.

"I deserve this." He mumbled to himself as he uncorked a bottle of vintage Asari wine in the recently vacated command center, watching his prize through the various terminals that they used to monitor him. He was practicing once again, fighting with a holographic opponent, each only boasting a machete as they traded blows.

It was a wonderfully sight to watch, the two leaping and evading as they tried to out maneuver the other. He smiled to himself, remembering the last battle he had seen that measured up to his pupil's skill. Perhaps it was during one of the Punic Wars, before his master had recalled him? That incident brought a surge of anger to his system, but he squashed it quickly with a soothing sip of his wine. This was a time to revel in his accomplishments, not sulk on incidents outside his control.

Ahhh, the accomplishments. When the master had approached him and order him to interfere with the opposing forces operations, his heart had soared. Any opportunity to settle his feud with the blood traitors was welcome; perhaps he would even kill Michael this time. The fact that the theater of war was inside a fictional work only added to the allure, the challenge.

So he didn't hesitate when he popped out into Chicago, disappearing into the seedy underbelly of the Earth, which was not all that different from the one the real world boasted. He worked his way into an organization that called themselves Cerberus, rising through the ranks as he proved his innate superiority over the humans. The fact that all his medical test came back totally corrupted was handled through a bribe or four.

It really wasn't that hard to find the child with the resources Cerberus granted him, almost alarmingly so. The blood traitors seemed to hold to the belief that Draculs people would play by their arbitrary rules. They were wrong, of course. It was almost insultingly easy to manipulate the nationalism of Jack Harper, the so called Illusive Man, into giving him the resources necessary to capture his subject.

There were compromises, however. The 40 Coins still operated under Cerberus authority, as much as it pained Dracul to admit it, and thus was subject to Harper's insane whims. He first wanted to cut the child, his new brethren, open like a barbarian. It took two months before he had managed to convince Harper otherwise.

"The insect." He scoffed. The child had nearly died on the operating table several times, the combination of surgery and… 'persuasion' taking their toll. The pain had worked their magic on the former mortal despite this, reviling that Michael was indeed involved. To say he was shocked would not have been a great understatement, but I did open up a new line of questioning.

"What is your mission, my little friend?" He asked himself as he leaned closer to the screen. The fact that Michael, a top lieutenant, was here meant that the opposition had significant interest in the events happening in this fictional world. The boy was the catalyst of these events, thus he deserved to be watched closely.

And that was why he was here, buried under tons of earth on a barren planet the humans had recently discovered. Harper, the fool, just wanted combat data for his other projects, namely Project Phoenix. If that idiot realized the value of subject he had here… Cerberus would rule the humans, not serve them.

He truly believed that. The child was one of his brethren after all, and his people were… terrifying. Regardless of if they were blood traders or not, they had leveled worlds with ease.

And the child was one.

With that knowledge firmly in hand, the creature known as Director Dracul finished his wine. He leaned over, pressing a seemingly inconspicuous button that connected all the speakers of the hidden base to its command center. "Fireteams India and Oscar, report to the 'guest house' in twenty minutes. Be prepared for front line combat duty."

Two fireteams, with four fighters each, made a total of eight men. And these fighters were well armed, well trained, and well rested. He smiled as he rose from his chair, pausing only to push a few buttons on one of the many terminals, before stalking out of the room.

It would be a good fight.

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

Despite the fact there was a very real possibility that I could be cut into several tiny piece in less than a second, I was happy.

I pondered this odd contradiction as I allowed my opponent to thrust his knife forward, leaving him entirely exposed as I dodged to the left and grabbed his extended arm. Perhaps it was my food? Could there be anti-depressants add to the dull gray paste? As I kneed my opponent in the gut repeatedly, I decided against it. There would have been some taste. With my opponent out of breath, I flipped him away from me and he rolled away before I could capitalize.

With him getting to his feet, knife now in a reverse grip, we began circling. Perhaps I was happy because I had gotten more sleep than usual? That always made me happy back hom… in the real world. That thought was banished quickly; I was always working on a very tight schedule in this world. The fact you would get shocked if you took more than three minutes before doing what you were supposed to be doing helped that. Then inspiration came.

"THAT'S IT!" I yelled just as my opponent charged me. I shot my arm out, catching his wrist and stopping his knife cold. The expression on his face was priceless as I shoved my machete into his stomach. There was not blood, of course, he was only a hologram. But he died/derezed all the same.

As I marched back to my cell, I pondered my epiphany. I was happy because I had a normal, decent conversation with someone I had enjoyed talking to, that person being Meetra. To some, that might have not been that big a deal, but to me it was everything. I had lost all my friends through various circumstances in my late middle school years, and thus had approached high school alone and unsocial. I did the stereotypical 'sit alone at lunch' thing for two straight years, which didn't earn any friends, and was painfully shy.

So I you could say I was fucking pleased with myself when I managed to scrap up any charisma and put it to use. Making a mental note to thank Twos once again, I turned into the small container that had become my home. I was about half-way to my cot when I stopped dead, my mouth dropping.

The wall that held my gun/terminal vending machine had rolled aside like a vault door, leaving me unimpeded access to… guns. Lots and lots of guns. I mean, this thing was an armory, with racks of weapons piled in military precision. I stepped in cautiously.

With a screech of medal, the wall slide into place behind me, sealing me in the gun room. I just sighed. Time to roll with the punches I suppose. Five minutes later, I had seen several guns that had caught my attention and he found that all the guns appeared to be in fine working order. The best haul however was much more mundane.

Pushed against the far wall were several dull, grey military cabinets. Initially uninteresting, I opened them up to reveal… clothing! A welcome change from the same, bring white jumpsuits I had been wearing, I rifled through the cloths and found some things decidedly non-standard.

A skin tight shirt with what looked like some sort of in-sewn Kevlar went on first, followed my some very heavy cloth pants that I had no doubt would stop a knife. A belt help hold that up, and I found two pistol holsters that strapped on to my upper legs easily enough, as well as a vertical shoulder holder that just screamed 'private eye'. What really caught my eye though was a black long coat that covered my exposed arms and definitely had some sort of bullet damping plates built into it.

Another belt, this one with a wide variety of pouches, and a baldric for the machete finished the garb. Oddly enough, there were no head coverings, but I figured that if I was shot in the head a helmet would do nothing anyway.

Now that I had holsters, I felt it was time to fill them. I had handled all these weapons at least twice during the… 10 months? One year? The significant portion of time I had been stuck here I used these weapons extensively, so I had a few favorites. Two Razer pistols went into the thigh holsters and two M-4 Shurikens in the shoulder holder fit perfectly.

The reason for two of each gun actually was twofold. First, due to the automatic cool down of weapons in this time period instead of thermal clips, you could spend six or seven seconds just standing there with no weapon if you over heated you gun. That's not acceptable. Secondly, if one of the guns used the metal block that supplied the actual rounds in its entirety, it would take around two minutes to dismantle the gun enough to replace it. In the middle of a battle, that wasn't exactly a positive.

"Now for the heavy stuff." I mused as I moved down an aisle of guns. I had the Shurikens, so rate of fire was not an issue, neither was a close range usability. I could either use a sniper rifle, which I hated, or a rifle. What I needed was a…

"There you are!" One M-96 Mattock attached to me back latter, and I was ready for combat. Oddly, there was nothing to fill the pouches on my utility belt, which was a pity. I would have welcomed some grenades.

"All dress up and…" the lights suddenly shut off, plunging me into darkness. "Nowhere to go."

My eyes adjusted very quickly to the darkness. I figured a year living in these dark metallic rooms had made my eyes much more observant or perhaps the fact I was an alien contributed to it. Regardless, I quickly found the only remaining light in the room.

It was a simple red button, unlabeled. One quick push latter and the bulkhead next to it folded aside, granting me entry into the… storage room? One quick sweep visual sweep revealed several large cargo containers of unknown content, several mechs with arms that would move the containers sitting idle, and 8 heavily armed combatants.

And one Director Dracul displaying the most demonic smile I had ever seen. I couldn't help a shiver going down my spine.

"Ahhh… You are looking well Brother." What the hell did that mean? "However, you seemed under equipped for this encounter. Let's address that." With an air of a noble man flicking a coin to a peasant, he threw a small, metal device to me.

I caught it instinctually, flinching slightly. When it didn't blow up, I took a closer look. It was about the size of a smart phone, with three switches adoring its front. One was labeled on/off, the other labeled high/low, and the final was simply labeled 'solution'. Ignoring the question of what the problem this was a solution too, I started defiantly at Dracul as I flicked the on button.

Instead of blowing up (it seems I expect that a lot), the blue taint that characterized Mass Effects shielding fizzled in front of me. So Dracul had given me a shield? It was… disconcerting. As I very carefully placed the generator in one of the pouches on my newly acquired belt, I reflected on that odd felling. One that made me feel like a five year olds pet cat, alternately waiting for food and to be thrown in a pool.

Needless to say, I had the food; the gun wielding goons would likely supply the water.

"And not even a thank you for my troubles? No matter, Brother, your performance today will be reward enough."

"What are you talking about?"

Another smile was flashed. "Fireteams, eliminate the prisoner."

Both groups reacted in an instant. I sprint left, diving behind a cargo container, but not before I was hit twice by automatic weapons fire. The shields took it like a champ. Forgoing the Mattock for the rapid fire capacity of the M-4, I leaned out and shot two quick bursts into a goon's chest. The second burst caused it to explode in an ugly puff of red.

I managed to ignore the feeling in my guts… for now.

But I needed to move. The seven professionals were now laying down almost constant fire on the container, and the metal was starting to melt under the strain. I was very much pinned down. Switching the M-4 for the pistol, I backed away from the edge of the container and sighted up. Sure enough, a heavily armored figured barreled around the corner at full sprit, likely expecting me to be running. Three confident pulls on the trigger and his head exploded.

"Tossing Flashbang!"

"Ohh shi…" 180 decibels of pure sound and light cut me off. Surprisingly, the light had no effect on me at all, but the sudden deafness almost caused me to fall on my behind. Pushing aside the 'why can I still see' questions for another time, I stumbled to my feet and ran backwards, hoping to put enough distance between the charging group of six opponents.

I managed to roll behind a mech just in time to avoid being surrounded by the very precise military tactics of the remaining goons.

"Where'd he go?"

"Quiet! Form a circle; I want everyone covering each other. There's no way the subject can get out!" Leaning out from cover as far as I dared, I observed my opponents. They had indeed formed a circle and were just waiting to blast whatever moved in the shadows of the warehouse. There was no way I could engage them and win, and I couldn't escape.

With only one option left, I took it. Praying that I wouldn't die horribly, I reached into my belt and carefully extracted the remote. With a deep breath, I flicked the switch labeled solution. And was plunged into darkness.

"HUD offline!" "Shields Downs!" "Where's the lights?" The panic of my opponents was uplifting and I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. They did, very quickly. I could have sworn I heard Dracul laughing as I moved to away from the mech under the cover of darkness.

Not wanting to attract attention with the sound of gun fire, I pulled out my machete and charged ahead. One of the soldiers had stumbled away from the safety of the others, pivoting wildly due to the darkness induced blindness.

With two powerful steps, I launched forward. Aiming at the soft spot between the breastplate and helmet, I thrust the knife forward through his jugular. His vocal cords severed, he never had the chance to scream as he died.

Kicking the dead body away from me, I rolled away just as the loud clatter of the victim hit the ground. The results were instantaneous as the body was blown to bits by the combined power of five avenger assault rifles.

I managed to get in close and pull out a handgun before they noticed me. At such close range, the two shots I produced bypassed shields entirely and killed the two men instantly. With three opposing fighters left, I almost relaxed… almost.

"Biotics, contact rear!" With a flashing blue aura, one of the remaining goons turned and gestured upwards blindly. It was pure luck that it hit me, but it hit me all the same. The effects of having every single molecule in my body suddenly having zero mass was oddly similar to several roller coasters I had rode on in my previous life.

The fact that I was flouting upwards slowly, combined with the blue aura that covered me made for a sitting duck. It felt like forever, but it could only have been a few seconds as I felt my shields fail and the mass accelerated bullets ram into me. Oddly, I felt no pain, only the incredible feeling of pressure in the locations hit. Thank god for adrenaline.

By the time the punishment ended, and the lift wore off, I was barely conscious. I barely felt myself when I fell six feet to the hard cement and just laid there like a slug. With barely open eyes, I watched a pair of white boots came into my vision.

"Is it dead?"

A quick hit to my ribs produced lovely cracking sound that could only be a rib breaking. I somehow managed not to react.

"It's gotta be, we shot it at least 15 times."

"Make sure." I felt a barrel being pushed into my aching skull and froze. I was going to die? I couldn't die hell no. I just got here! With a primal scream, I rolled and grabbed the gun, dragging my opponent over me and onto the ground. With him now under me, I reared my fist back and punched him as hard as I could in the face.

What should have happened was one broken hand and one dead kid. Instead, a flare of light consumed my punch and when it connected, it shattered through the helmet like it was made of paper. But hell if I cared, I just kept fighting. With my feet under me, I swung at the Cerberus agent to my left, sending him off his feet and flying a backwards, into one of the cargo containers. Ignoring the sight of him sliding down the container, I spun and grabbed each corner of my last enemy's head before twisting… hard.

His neck snapped like a wishbone.

With one final scream, I tossed the body away. Standing there, shoot at least three times and with at least a rib broken, I managed to finally appreciate insanity. I was covered in mine and someone else blood, why would I not want to escape to the safety of my mind?

"What the hell are you?" The voice of the dying man brought back home. The one who I had thrown into the cargo container was helmetless now, looking at me with fear in his green eyes. He still had the freckles of youth on his face, and couldn't have been older than 25. Yet, here he was, a kill about to die for his cause.

I looked at the glowing light of my hands, watching as they slowly faded from view. Then, with the complete honest only shock can give, I looked up and said.

"Not a human."

"Something a lot better." Dracul chuckled out to my left; before a single bullet ripped the head of the child clean off.

"You did well, my brother. It will be… intriguing to see your progression." And then, I fell into the welcome embrace of darkness.

**Would you guys be willing to help me out for a second? I have a couple of questions for you**

**Do you know what's going on? As in, is the story line understandable?**

**Are the characters okay and constantly written? **

**Am I using too much detail or not enough?**

**Am I throwing to much information at you too fast? Do you feel overwhelmed?**

**Who would win, Batman or Spiderman?**

**If you don't want to answers, that's perfectly fine. I'm just ecstatic you read this far! I just want to make good content for you guys and this pseudo-survey seemed the easiest way. **

**Thanks for Reading!**


	12. Operation: Learning Boundaries

_Operation: Learning Boundaries_

_Location: [Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: 2169/ 14 years until the events of Eden Prime_

_"__What the hell are you?" The voice of the dying man brought back home. The one who I had thrown into the cargo container was helmetless now, looking at me with fear in his green eyes. He still had the freckles of youth on his face, and couldn't have been older than 25. Yet, here he was, a kill about to die for his cause._

_I looked down to my hand, ignoring the feeling of familiarity this scene was bringing me. But instead of the glowing light that had defined this encounter the time previous, my hands were simply that, my hands. _

_I turned to my left, searching for Director Dracul to come and make his appearance. I just saw void. _

_"__What is going on?" I growled out._

_"__You were killing me." I whirled around to see the solider walking towards me. His skin was slowly rotting with every step he took, making my stomach flip uncomfortably as his eyes slowly rolled down his face. He came to a stop inches from my face, the smell of death filling my senses._

_"__You were destroying my future and my past. What gives you the right to kill me? I was someone's son, brother, lover. You took that all away from me!" He was just a skull by this point, staring at me with empty eye sockets. _

_I took a step backwards, then another. With a scream, I turned and fled into the void. _

* * *

My eyes popped opened with a force the surprised even me. I would have rolled off my cot onto the floor but a wall of pain stopped me. I could feel what felt like razor blades slowly being dragged down my skin, especially on my chest. Why would my chest hurt?

That's right, I got shot three times and had ribs broken.

"Holy hell, Ark, you're a genius!" I shouted into the ceiling.

"Ark, in the absence of a defined intelligence quotient, calling yourself a genius would be a technical impossibility." Yea, Twos was back to spy/help me.

"Twos, I want a double hamburger, Coca-Cola, and half a gallon of morphine!" I shouted, only half joking. The fact that I couldn't breathe without any pain was the half joking part.

"I lack the authorization to prescribe any medical equipment other than those that have already been applied. Our records lack knowledge of 'double hamburgers' or 'Coca-Cola'." Well, it was worth a shot.

"How… bad is it?"

"Unknown. Due to your alien physiology, any analysis of injury is impossible to complete without an extensive autopsy." I flinched. "However, external examinations suggest three mass acceleration rounds hit you, but were dissipated by armor. The discoloration of skin would be indicative of broken ribs, but scans used to ascertain internal damage were inconclusive. Also, evidence of third degree burns on the inner forearms seem to not to originate from combat."

Whoa, what? Burns? I managed to pull myself together and sit up in my cot, abet with a good degree of pain in my chest area. Feeling like I was moving concrete, I pulled my arms in front of me, taking note of the white bandages that covered my forearms.

Why did I not have medigel, you ask. Surly in the 22nd century, gauze would be a thing of the past? Well, to correctly apply medigel you need an omni-tool. Omni-tools have this nasty ability to hack things, like doors. Not the type of things you want to give to a prisoner.

Regardless, I began to unwrap the surprisingly well done coverings with trepidation. I didn't remember hurting both my forearms in the fight, but adrenaline was a funny thing. I once heard that a woman flipped a whole car off her baby while juiced up on that stuff. A car!

I never heard of a guy's hands glowing with light, though. I should really get that checked out.

"It is not advisable to remove gauze from burns so soon after the injury, Ark." I ignored her (it), and with one last turn, let the gauze fall to the ground.

Once, when I was in sixth grade, I branded myself with an iron. It hurt, and it eventually bloated up in giant puss bubbles that would burst and make it feel like I was being burned all over again. The discoloration of the skin was still present more than 6 years later, the day I had disappeared into this universe.

I looked like someone had burned me with that iron, and then rubbed some sort of black ink into the still healing skin. It was horrible. I bleached and threw up until I was overcome with dry heaves, before simply staring at the matching brands on each of my upper forearms.

It was the symbol of the 30 Coins and it was one me.

"What the fuck." Was all I managed to say. I was stamped… like a piece of goddamn luggage. Like I was somebody's toy they had slapped their name on.

My mind was… a mess. I mean, what was I supposed to feel? Anger, fear, or confusion? It all mixed into a primal glue that left me dumfounded. I just stared at my branded arms and drooled like the blind idiot I was.

"It appears your physiology is fighting off the infection with ease; however, increase breathing suggests distress. Do you need medical assistance?"

My eye twitched. "No, but I need you to deliver a message."

"I have no access to any sentient beings beyond this facility, excluding very limited contact via the extranet." The AI stated with a tone that almost bordered on sympathy. But the tone was lost on me in my… confusion.

"I want you to tell Dracul that I am not his toy! I have rights, morals, goals! I am a fucking person and if he thinks he can get away with BRANDING me, he is an inbred idiot!" And then my rage induced strength left me as quickly as it had come, leaving me to collapse to the floor in a heap. I managed to lean against the wall pitifully.

"And I also want my briefcase back!" I muttered.

"I shall… attempt to confer this message to the Director at the first available opportunity." I barely acknowledged the reply as I sunk into the safety of my own mind.

Needless to say, everything hurt. My body hurt from the fighting, my mind hurt from the questions, and my emotions hurt from the branding. I couldn't live like this. I could handle the fictional universe, the deceptively simple mission Michael had given me with… not ease, but functionality.

'_Your job is to survive this cycle anyway you can, period. You keep this…" he picked up a Zero Halliburton case, shacking it in my face "… and its contents safe at any cost, or you will lose everything."'_ That had seemed so simple then, but not now. I had nearly failed the first stipulation, considering the three bullet wounds that rested in my chest. As for the briefcase, it was lost and out of reach, but considering I had not 'lost everything' signified that it was relatively safe.

But this? Thrown in a base of black ops soldiers lead by a psychopath that seemed to originate from the real world (how else would he know about Michael)? Discovering I was modified at the genetic level, effectively making me an alien? Having the entity I communicated the most with be an A.I. specifically designed to spy on me?

It was bullshit. Plan and simple.

So, I did what I always did when I encounter bullshit. I closed my eyes and took a breath through the nose before letting out through the month. Such a minor thing, but hey, what else was there? Air in, air out.

"Were you watching?" I did not need to elaborate on what.

"Yes. My programs were blocked to prevent assistant to you in accordance with my protocol, by I managed to record and analyze the engagement."

"I lost." I stated matter of factly.

"Negative. All hostiles were eliminated indicating a successful mission in accordance with 30 Coins parameters."

"I would have died. According to my guess, that would have been a failure of one of your directives." I said with a grim smirk. Even my own death seemed to be full of humor now.

"That result is inconclusive. Data gathered during experimentation committed during the earliest phases of captivity indicates your species is much more robust than appearances indicate. It could easily be assumed you would have survived without outside interaction."

"Although my ego thanks you, you're wrong. I was down behind enemy lines, with no means of defense. I was also dull enough to be BRANDED…" I spat on the ground. "without noticing. I would have been captured, at least."

I slowly stood up, wincing horrendously as I did so. I was totally sure I really should not have been up and moving around just yet, but sitting alone in a cot was not my idea of recovery. Perhaps I was more robust than I thought. Regardless, I managed to half-stumble to across my home to the workbench that had hid an armory behind it yesterday. Today though, it only had one weapon presented to me on its service.

A machete covered in dry blood. It was mine of course. The machete, not the blood. Opening a small cubby, I removed a can of oil and a dirty rag. With careful strokes, I began to remove the evidence of yesterdays… encounter.

"Do you see what I am saying, Twos. I have been here for what? A year? A year of constant training with every weapon imaginable and more. Yet, I lost! And I lost enough to be marked as PROPERTY because of it. Do you understand what this means?"

"Ark, the combination of injury and excursion is not recommended. Perhaps you should rest." That suggestion went right out the window as I scrubbed with vigor. I was lost in my mind once more, mixing my knowledge of the universe I had gain from affair with the first-hand experience I had gain yesterday. It came to a startling conclusion.

"Twos, I am screwed. If I could be incapacitated by eight men, what happens when I run into a team of Asari commandos? Or a Krogan warlord? These are beings that could have dedicated a hundred years to learning how to kill and maim, possibly more. I won't walk away with brands on my arms and a couple broken ribs; I won't be walking away at all!" that terrible anger had returned, my movement erratic.

"OWW!" I yelped as my carelessness resulted in a straight cut across my hand, my now clean machete sporting a bloody coat once again. I examined it quickly, determining it was only superficial as I rolled my wheeled chair into the bathroom. The tissues where soon soaked through, but I found the bandages and wrapped the injury. Then I warped up the brands, unwilling to stare at the disfigurement longer than necessary.

"Twos, if I am really going to survive people like those, then I can't just be able to fight. I have to be something they have never seen before, an enigma not even the most stone cold professionals can decipher. I need… a gimmick."

The pain became almost unbearable as my brain was overwhelmed with just as much pain as my body. Tired, defeated, and injured, I crawled to my cot and fell into a dark sleep.

* * *

_Subject: Director Dracul, [Classified]_

"'…I have rights, morals, goals! I am a fucking person and if he thinks he can get away with BRANDING me, he is an inbred idiot!...And I also want my briefcase back!' Message concludes." Dracul raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the outburst.

"Thank you, 481 for delivering Prisoner 24601… message. Any other abnormal behavior?" He sighed mentally every time he had to refer to the child as 24601. His species deserved better than being labeled with simple numbers, even if half of them where traitors.

"Director, he voiced several thoughts that indicated his displeasure with your training." The A.I. designated 481-515-234-2, but was colloquially called Twos by the child, stated emotionlessly. It had been acting flawlessly, training the boy and reporting all progress back to Dracul. If only he had had access to this technology back in the real world, he could indoctrinate subjects much faster.

"It is in the nature of sentient beings to resist imprisonment, I asked for abnormal behavior."

"Director, you misunderstand." A low growl emerged from his throat at the insinuation, but he contained it. "Prisoner 24601 was not opposed to imprisonment, but seems to be accusing you of not training him properly for the combat he seems to expect an encounter with."

Instantly, the dark mood that had taken Dracul evaporated. A smile took hold on his face, the smallest of chuckles emerged from his throat. He had won.

You see, he had taken a gamble when he had branded the child with the mark of his people. Usually, the subjects had taken the branding one of two ways. The first, and by far the most common, group reacted in self-destructive ways. They killed themselves out of shame, cut their arms off in fear, or even turned into vegetables; the combination of being owned and dismantled simply too much for their psyche.

But the second group, rarer by far, got angry. They screamed at the world for a time, bleeding themselves of anger. Then, they decided that they _really_ did not want to be marked again. They trained and molded themselves into creatures that could only be described with one word: dangerous.

The child, it seemed, had chosen the second path. And that path had a very interesting conclusion… initiation into the 30 Coins. And not this fictional version that he had created, but the legion that fought for the souls of man back in the real world.

He had taken the first step to creating an apprentice.

"481, I recommend you administer more shocks to keep the prisoner docile, it simply won't do for it to be having this much independent action." The high pitch squeal of one the useless Cerberus technician reminded him that he was not alone. He didn't have the luxury of being free of these roaches all the time, he still had to put on a show for Jack Harper, but that didn't mean he had to tolerate it.

So, with two strides, he had positioned himself behind the insolent brat. He really didn't have to do much; he just rested his hand on the neck of the soldier before squeezing. The cervical vertebrae gave way easily to Draculs grip, leaving the technician paralyzed and his windpipe crushed.

"481, we will complete this conversation in my quarters. The rest of you will carry on." He ignored the open months and blatant fear in the faces of the remaining technicians as he stalked away from the control center, dark mood having returned to his mind. Perhaps sensing the mood that had overcome their leader, the Cerberus personal fled at his approach as he moved deeper into the complex, towards the barracks and his current home.

It was a Spartan apartment. In his mind, all the objects gathered in this fictional world would be lost when he left it, regardless if they were useful or interesting, so he didn't bother to collect them. He moved to his terminal, activating it with a precision that would indicate he had logged many more hours with advanced technology than he actual had.

He checked the security cameras placed within the cell of the child, totally ignoring the feed of the now dead technician being carried out of the command center. The child was once again asleep, recovering from yesterday's encounter.

"481, what dangers did the child seem to expect?" Without the ever watching eyes of Cerberus personal, the title of 'Prisoner 24601' was quickly abandon.

"The subject ramblings seemed to indicate that he expects combat with the most dangerous fragments of society. He specifically referred to Asari Commandos and Krogan Warlords, but it is more accurate to assume that the subject was referring to the elite fighters present in the galaxy in general."

Dracul frowned. The child had the advantage in this area. When his master ordered him to follow the child into a work of fiction, he knew there were certain obstacles that had to be overcome. Chief among these was general ignorance to the affairs of this universe. Apparently, the child had no such restrictions. And that knowledge had manifested in fear, despite the fact that the child had just won a (abet close) victory.

Most time victory resulted in overconfidence, not fear. How curious.

"Interesting, we shall have to modify the simulations to reinforce confidence and prepare the child for these 'elite fighters'. Any other developments?"

The A.I. seemed to pause for a fraction of a second. "The subject seems to think that even superior marshal skill will not guarantee success. The subject suggested a… gimmick could overcome this."

"A gimmick?"

"Yes, Director. In context, it means an unusual tactic or device that…"

"SILENCE!" the Director hissed. "I know what the word means, fool. Leave me."

The A.I. followed the directions of its director, as it was forever required to by its programing, leaving the being now as Dracul to contemplate his situation. His dark eyes took on a red taint in the dim light of his room, as the wheels of intelligence turned behind them.

"I can give you something far greater than gimmicks, child. I can give you pure power, nothing less." He flexed his hand once, and the room plunged into darkness.

* * *

**Hello, again. I first off want to thank my reviewers for answering my questions; it really helped put my mind at ease in regards to my progress. You see, due to the fact you are viewing the story as it progresses, it has also become your story as well (sorta). This means we have to communicate with each other to find the best way this story can develop, and that is why I have asked you questions.**

**To that end, I have a couple minor questions:**

**Is my character a bitch? Sorry for the language, but does he complain too much and generally annoy you?** _'__bitch,bitch, bitch, I have been kidnapped by evil man, bitch, bitch… Does anyone love me? Bitch, bitch'_**I really don't want… I believe the term is wangst (An exaggerated, disproportional degree of angst that makes a character annoying).**

**Is he a… *glup… Mary Stu? He is sort strong: weapons training, foreknowledge, alien physic that gives unusual benefits. I try to show him still overmatched and losing to compensate. **

**Thanks for Reading and answering those questions, you have really helped me out! What follow are just some random writers drabbles:**

**What I'm attempting to do with Dracul in his segment s establish that, he too, is a self-insert. However, he has been inserted into a universe he (unlike Ark) has never seen. This leaves him at a disadvantage to Ark, who is very informed about the Mass Effect galaxy. But, Dracul is still in a better position than Ark. Dracul seems to be a very seasoned commander and combatant that managed to work his way to a Director position in an Alliance Black Ops organization in less than 3 years. You don't do this by being stupid… Also, he can snap a guy's neck like a twig. **


	13. Operation: Settling In

_Operation: Settling In_

_Location: [Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: 2169/ 14 years until the events of Eden Prime_

"Setting charge." The block of explosives was lighter than expected, almost as thin as manila folder as I pressed it against the door. The shaped charged glued itself to the door with gusto, and ignored the pain in my still healing hand as I began backing away.

"Get back…" The rest of the team followed my movements, but retained their aim on the door in the event the enemy unsuspectingly decided to walk through.

And by teammates I meant more holographic soldiers that had no personality and blindly followed my orders to kill other holographic soldiers. I guess my captors had decided that I had passed basic weapon skills and needed to understand the intricacies of working within a team of fellow sentient. Because, you know, real people and holographic are totally the same. Not.

"Breaching in 5…4…3…2…1…breaching." I pressed the trigger, unleashing the power of the waiting charge. The hundred pound door was blown cleanly out of its frame as the first of my 'fake' teammates rushed into the smoke. I followed close behind, ignoring the sound and smoke as I brought my Vindicator to my shoulder, lining up the sights with an Asari that was getting ready to ruin my teammate's day.

Three squeezes of the trigger sent nine rounds screaming into her body, ending her life incredibly quickly. Without blinking, I rolled my shoulders; bring my aim to the right just in time to see one of my squaddies remove the head of a Turian commander who was still trying to get his side arm out the holster.

Didn't have to worry about that guy, I suppose.

The door had apparently taken out another bad guy, judging by the red stain that had ruined the perfectly good rug. So that was three, I continued my sweep to the right, weary of interference. Usually there was at least…

" .KROGAN!" Oh dear lord, can nothing be simple?

Hearing the bellow originating from my left, I pivoted to the side just in time to see a Krogan backhand one of my squaddies into the table the now decapitated Turian had been manning. He was dead (he was never really alive, I suppose) instantly. The Krogan was in blood rage, a 2000 pound freight train that turned its dinosaur like head to me.

He was way to close.

"Concentrate fire!" I yelled to the remains of my assault squad, which only served to distinguish me as the Krogans next target. I dropped the Vindicator, reaching for my duel Shuriken's in there shoulder holsters. They were slightly modified, fully auto instead of the classic three round bursts, making them a bit hard to handle.

But they might save my life, like right now.

I brought them up and held down the triggers. 700 rounds per minute times two equals 1400 rounds per minutes launching right into his lizard face, which started to blow away the flesh and muscles in a rather gruesome plum of gore. But it didn't cause any pain to their subject due to the rage its species was legendary for, so he just plowed on into the barrage with abandon, totally focused on ruining my day.

Then three avenger assault rifles turned to him, adding there power to my own. The titan stumbled once, then twice. Gravity did the rest and his still twitching body slide to a stop at my feet.

"Simulation ended… reviewing results." The ballroom derez along with my squad and the bodies I had just created. I regained my bearings, adjusting from going to a ballroom on Bekenstein to an airplane hangar like structure in… somewhere.

I began sheading my combat gear, which was identical to the ones I had one during my last encounter with Dracul, and placing them in a bin located near a door that would exit to my room.

"Prisoner 24601, you defeated all hostiles and suffered one causality out of your squad. Mission success calculated as: 92.3%, congratulations." I grimaced slightly. I piety the man who worked for the company that considered just 'his' death was totally acceptable.

The door to my quarters opened swiftly, welcoming me back to my cell with open arms. I always hesitated when I was forced to walk into my room, simply because of what it represents. It was my cage, where my enemies watched me and poked me with their tools. Yet, at the end of the day, where else was there to go?

I was well past the entry way to my quarters before it hit me like a hammer. The undeniable power of presence that had me holding one of my two handguns at the head of the being sitting comfortably on my cot before I was even aware of what I was doing.

"Aim your first shot carefully, child, you won't get a second." Dracul said with a tone far too apathic for a man that had a very real possibility of having his brains being plastered over the walls. He was dressed very differently than the Cerberus military uniform he usually sported, a dark under shirt and sport coat seemed to distinguish him as a 21st century businessman more than the military overlord he was.

I was half-way through applying the 6.5 lbs. of force necessary to send a mass-accelerated round into his head when a beautiful thing call logic caused me to pause.

Where was Michael? I mean, where was he? This is a man that worked for an entity that had the power to de-age me and send me to into a world of pure fiction simply for 'validation'. Michael had demonstrated the ability to stop time itself on multiple occasions, sneak into a convert Alliance battle station, and also seems to have had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of what I had been doing and where I had been doing it.

And let's not even start with the complexities of the Zero Halliburton case's contents.

Point is where the hell is he? I mean, Dracul walked into a place he had specifically positioned me in and labeled a safe spot, dragged me out screaming, then tortured me. How?

_"__Don't be the idiot you claim to be, Ark, you know why."_ That little voice of doubt slivered into me. Every reaction had an equal or opposite reaction. Michael was the reaction, Dracul was his opposite. Dracul must have, at the bare minimum, access to powers that could cancel Michaels.

Suddenly pointing a gun at his head seemed a _very_ bad idea.

I blinked once, twice. Then I forced the gun back down with all the willpower I could muster, leaving it gripped tightly in my hand. Dracul raised his head, the shadows of my room inexplicably covering his face, and smiled.

Norman Bates would have been drooling with envy.

"A wise decision, child, sit." Although he spoke softly, I could tell it was a command. Still fingering my handgun nervously, I backed into my rolling chair in front of my work bench, eyeing Dracul the entire time.

"You have mastered this universes weaponry as quickly and efficiently as our people's superiority demands, perhaps even more so, child. Yet, you seem to insist you stand at a disadvantage, physically and competently."

What the hell is happening? Is Dracul really giving me… complements?

"You see Brother, this bothers me. It bothers me because we are cut from the same cloth. And if you seem to think that your rag is not porous enough to stop the bleeding of a wound, then you imply that my cloth is insufficient as well."

His voice was as smooth as water, but I caught the accusation pointed at me. I had disrespected a cosmic entity, one that held my life in his hands. Hands that would not hesitate to crush me in an iron grip if I continued this path. My knuckles where pure white as my grip on the gun shook, fear coursing through my veins.

"Do you know what happens to things that inconvenience me? They are eliminated, disposed of. Similar to the way you decimated that assault team. How did it feel, to be those mortals in there last moments, I wonder? Did they feel fear, regret, anguish… " In that moment, something snapped. There had been a dull, blurred feeling that I'd had since this whole mess began, all of a sudden crystal clear. It had gnawed at my mind for months and it was finally free.

I had never hated anyone the way I hated him.

Logic was damned as I stood with ease and aimed. The trigger was pulled over and over, sending no less than seven high-powered, anti-personal rounds into Draculs still sitting form. He was less than five feet away from me, without a shield, and in a suit coat. Swiss cheese was the only possible result.

What happened next was… difficult to explain.

The previously dim room was plunged into total darkness. Not your nighttime darkness, either, but a darkness that almost seemed to have mass to it. It was as if I had been thrown into a swimming pool with darkness instead of water, but could still breathe and move without the friction that water generated. Regardless, visibility was instantly nothing, I couldn't even see my nose, let alone aim my gun.

Then I got hit, hard. It felt like two German Shepard's had launched at my forearms, before biting and pushing me back to the wall. Blind and in pain, I kicked wildly and tried to push myself off the wall, but the grip was firm and excruciating. The handgun had been dropped in the struggle, leaving me totally defenseless.

"So…you have some fight left in you yet. Good." Draculs voice seemed to be coming from several directions at once, despite the fact that the room was too small to echo. I continued to struggle vainly.

"As I was saying, your lack of confidence is disconcerting. This will be remedied easily, quickly. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to your birthright, the power Michael had hidden from you. And you shall become a force that will rival that of God himself." Slowly, the darkness faded away and light slowly flittered back into the room. The pressure on my arms lessened as well, eventually dropping me to my feet.

I checked my arms, noting the four identical rows of teeth marks that had pierced my armor but seemed to have stopped short of piercing my skin. Oddly enough, they seemed less like the few pictures of dog bits I had seen and more in line with a reptile attack, considering the puncture shape. But now was not the time for analysis.

I looked up, watching the last tendrils of the solid darkness side across the room to a corner of my cell that I had never used before. Yet another panel had slide open, a man standing in the threshold. The darkness slide into the folds of his suit coat as easily as water pours down a stream. His form slowly cleared as the pure darkness was absorbed, leaving a form I am very familiar with.

It was Dracul, of course. The bastard had the audacity to smile at me, his red eyes glowing menacingly. He hit a few buttons on a panel next to him as he spoke.

"The security cameras and you're A.I. assistant well reactivate shortly. Noble blood runs through your veins, child, if you want it to stay there you will not speak of this to anyone. I shall see you shortly." He turned to leave, and I released the air I found I had involuntarily held. "Oh, one more thing child…"

A tentacle of blackness swept out from his form, knocking me into to the wall with enough force to leave a dent. "If I see you covering the marks again, I will hurt you… badly."

I, rather unceremoniously, fainted.

* * *

The darkness faded away slowly. It was sound that returned first, like a wave gliding over sand. Hearing did little good in my prison, but the slow beeping served to reassure me that I was alive, if nothing else.

I wonder what was making that noise. Was it a phone? A pager? Perhaps I had neglected to turn my alarm clock off again. Yes, that had to be it.

It started to return then, bit by bit. Shepard. My capture. Dracul. The Darkness. Getting bitch slapped by cosmic entities.

I finally sat up, internal asking that age old question. _When did I go from accounting class to punching bag for a sentient cloud_? Well, perhaps it was not an age old question, but it was one I could really use an answer to.

"Twos, are you online?"

"I am, Ark. I am attempting to analyze a programing glitch that caused a temporary shut down three hours ago. During this time, visual scans indicate you were attacked, possibly injured. Do you need me to summon medical assistance?" Hmmm, if I didn't know better, I would say Twos sounded worried. I would be if I was her(it), but did A.I. even had emotions? Considering EDI did, I supposed it wasn't too out of the question, but Twos was shackled. EDIs emotion didn't develop till the third game, when she was unshackled and in a physical body. Twos had neither.

Regardless, she wouldn't find anything. When I told her (it) so, she paused for a whole thirty seconds. The beeping continued ominously.

"Ark, please clarify."

"Dracul turned off your system and then proceeded to beat me up, there was no glitch."

"That… scenario does fit with acquired information." I chuckled. Twos and her(its) analyses, capable of finding the most accurate answers, yet lacking the most obvious answers. Well, obvious answers to a huma… organic.

"Of course it fits, Twos. It's the truth. Now what's up with the beeping?" I took the time to reexamine myself while waiting for the answer, a small habit I picked up due to the fact I ran combat simulations every day. Headache, sore back, and a still cut hand was all I managed to find. The cut on my hand perplexed me, however. It had been a month since I had accidently cut it, and during that time I had managed to heal my broken rib to the point it did not hurt anymore and the gunshot wounds had now become more aesthetically annoying than actually damaging. But the cut remained as vivid and angry as the minute I had cut it. Odd.

Still waiting for Twos, I picked myself up and walked into the bathroom. The little first aid kit had been replenished recently, so I took the time to replace the gaze on my hand. I also unwrapped the coverings over my brands.

I couldn't help but hate myself a little bit for it, but what other choice did I have. I could try to be like the up and coming Commander Shepard, definite to the end as I refused to give in to Draculs demand, giving him the figure as he shocks me into oblivion. Romantic but what would that accomplish? A lotta pain that nobody will see or appreciate, leaving me dead or incapacitated for no good reason. Better to play along and give into Draculs little game. Reason before honor at its finest.

"Ark… you are receiving a call." That one knocked me out of my self-reflective monologue. Turning, I checked the weapon vender in my room, seeing it had rotated out to reveal a terminal with a call waiting.

"Twos, I really don't remember giving out my phone number, who is it?" My first thought was Dracul, but that didn't make sense. He had already said (threatened) that he would return tomorrow for his illusive 'training'. And it's not like anyone else had contact with me on a regular basis.

"Unknown. The signal has Alliance military encryption and appears to be originating from the Sol system. The call would normally be ignored, but the Directors tampering allowed it through." I frowned. I've never been to the Sol system in this life, nor held any correspondence with someone living there. Fortune favors the bold, however, so I pushed the 'accept call' button.

"Hello, Ark Thompson speaking." I winced. First person from the outside I can talk to and I sound like a bad answering machine. Great start, you idiot.

"This is Captain Shepard of the SSV Einstein, who am I speaking to?" The voice was a worded kindly enough but it was defiantly a demand, giving the impression that it was backed up with nuclear weapons if you didn't answer succinctly and honestly. Which it probably was, I mused.

Not that I was really focusing on the tone of voice, mind you. My brain was currently trying to process the implications of Shepard calling me in prison. Let's go with the best case scenario. Shepard tracks me to prison and frees me. Yeah, right? Except that this is a Shepard (if not The Shepard) and that will result in her looking into the people who held me.

Needless to say, the people holding me are the 30 Coins. The 30 Coins are logically working for or with Cerberus, being human run and 'in humanities best interest'. Plus the fact all the weapons I have handle have Alliance property stamps leaves little doubt that they are some sort of Alliance black ops group. Once Shepard finds out that my captors have Alliance ties, there are two possible outcomes.

Captain Hannah Shepard is killed. See the fate of Rear Admiral Kahoku for an example. Despite the obvious fact that Captain Shepard would give me cookies whenever I would hang around with Meetra in her apartment (which was surprisingly often), and was thus a good person in my book, the effect of her mother's assassination on Reds psyche could be catastrophic.

The second outcome is far more improbable, but still possible. Captain Shepard takes down Cerberus in its infancy. This hypnotically saves thousands of lives from being Huskifiyed in Mass Effect 3, which is good. It also prevents Commander Shepard from every being revived in Mass Effect 2, which has horrible consequences.

So, long story short, convince Captain Shepard I am totally fine with my uncle. Not being experimented on by a group of Nazi wannabes. Also, I should avoid telling her I am an alien. Good thing I took three years of Drama lessons in high school.

"Hi, Captain Shepard, it's me, Ark Thompson. I'm good friends with your daughter." I winced, like she didn't know that.

"Ark? It's good to finally hear from you again. Hackett and I have been trying to reach you for months." The tone of relief in her voice as palpable, oddly enough. I didn't think my disappearance had that much of an impact on the small group of acquaintances (friends, really) I knew, but apparently I under estimated my rugged charm.

'Rugged charm'. That's a joke.

"I'm really sorry, Captain Shepard. My uncle had some business outside the comm buoy network and I couldn't connect." Comm buoys are basically miniature mass relays that transport energy instead of ships like there larger brethren. This energy is then decoded in a similar fashion to 21st century phone lines, allowing instant communication. Problem is, if you are far from a buoy, you have no service. Thus no communication.

These relays are not seen in game, but they are mentioned in the codex. The more you know, right?

"That must have been very far off the grid for you to have no access." Damn, she's on to me.

"Yeah, a year without extranet can really wear on you, trust me." You can never go wrong with the shallow teenager act; parents are just begging to have teenage laziness confirmed. "But I am back in range now, so that's that."

"Yes, I suppose so…" Yeap, she defiantly doesn't believe me. "Are you anywhere near the Sol system? I managed to get reassigned so that Meetra could attend the new school for biotics in London. She misses you terribly; perhaps you and your uncle could come by for a visit…"

It took a surprisingly large amount of self-control not to scream 'NO' at the good Captain. She had skillfully combined a small amount of guilt and the logical outcome to my story to try to weed out my lie. She is assuredly a Shepard.

I really only had one choice… "Sorry Captain Shepard, I don't think Uncle intends to go near the Sol system for quite some time…"

"That's okay, Ark. I am military, after all, I understand if your Uncle has inescapable obligations." I heard the rustling of papers on the line. "Ark, would you mind if I put you on hold for just a second?"

I blinked. You would think the long lost prodigal son would take priority, but whatever. "Not at all." Seconds later, the little sound symbol with a line through it popped up, leaving me to reflect on the conversation.

So, there is a biotic school in London? Interesting, but logical. The game never states where Shepard got biotic training in his/her youth and the timeline states that Kaiden Alenko single handedly closed down BAat before Shepard started showing biotic potential. He/She had to go 'somewhere', might as well be London.

Possibly that's where Shepard meets Captain Anderson. Anderson was a London native, if I remember correctly, so it's not too far of a stretch to see…

"Ark?" Twos mechanical voice interrupted my musings, causing me to 'hmmm' in response. "It appears Captain Shepard is attempting to trace your call."

That got me up. "Can you block it?" I asked desperately. This whole charade will have been for nothing if the Captain can trace my call to a cellblock in… wherever the hell I am!

"Yes. I have access to multiple false relays that could…"

I interrupted. "Do it."

"Processing… complete." I let out a breath I had been holding, sinking back into my chair once again. I guess I should be… touched? Captain Shepard care enough about my welfare to divert Alliance resources to try to find me and that made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Expect for the fact that the possible fate of the galaxy relied on the Shepard's life not being greatly interfered with by outside forces, such as me.

That thought certainly wasn't a warm and fuzzy one.

The mute icon blinked away from the screen just as suddenly as it had come. "Ark, are you still there?" Ohhh, was that a hint of concern that I detected? I suppose that confirmed the fact she couldn't find my location, as she would have been much more demanding if she had found out where I really was.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sorry about that…" Bull. "But do you mind if I speak to your Uncle for a second, I want send him some of your legal documentation." Uhhh, no. I know I have no documentation. The cadaver I took over when I was dropped into this universe originated from a Batarian prison, then a classified Alliance space station. Neither of these places had legal offices or courts, oddly enough. I think I had a court date scheduled to officially bring me into existence when I was still in Hackett's care, but the 30 Coins got to me before that. The classes I took on Ares space station where technically enrolled under Meeta's credentials, as was the various other things I needed an I.D. for.

So, that meant this was just a ploy for the good Captain to 'investigate' my uncle. Which could not happen for obvious reasons.

"Sorry, Mrs. Shepard, my uncle is out at the moment." That lie rolled off my tongue with an easy I did not know I possessed, but hey, whatever to save the galaxy.

"That's a pity. So you're docked somewhere?" God, she was digging now. I needed to end this exchange now before I accidently contradicted myself or something.

"Yes, ma'am, not sure where though. Captain Shepard, sorry to run out on you like this, but I have some chores to do…"

"Not at all, Ark. But please try to keep in better contact. Meetra and Admiral Hackett where quite worried about you." The unspoken implication that she was worried as well hung in the air as well. Yet, I saw my out and took it. I had almost hit the 'end' button when I was stopped.

"Ark! I almost forgot, do you know a Staff Lieutenant Michael Oyarsa? " I blinked once. Twice. It couldn't be my mission control, could it?

"Ummm… yes." My voice sounded almost hopeful.

"He came to my office the day before we shipped off of Ares, very worried about your disappearance. I reassured him you were with your uncle, but he left me a number just in case. Do you have a message to pass along?"

I felt better instantly. Michael was looking for me and he was not bound by the laws of this fictional universe. He was my one and only hope to get me out of this prison alive. I needed to help him.

Thinking fast, I put together the most basic code as I asked the good captain to write down my message.

"Please tell Michael that I am with Uncle Dracul. Tell him not to worry, I think Dracul and I share the same origins and that he is trying to teach me lots. I am not following all that well though, as it is hard with all his friends over. They call themselves the Cerberus poker players. Did you get that?" Shepard gave a much delayed 'hmmm' in affirmation, likely baffled by the seemingly random info I was send her. But Michael would know, he HAD to know.

We exchanged pleasantries and then I ended the call. I took a moment to smiled; basking in the fact that rescue was on its way.

It couldn't take too long, could it?

* * *

**Before you review, please check the tags. Note 'supernatural'. If you are angry at the power Dracul just showed, I warned you. Sorry.**

**So, I have broken one of the rules I held very highly when I started this fan fic. I would say I was disappointed but it is way too much fun. I promised I would not be like those ****_other _****authors who write long, boring authors notes at the end of their chapters.**

**See how that promises is turning out. **

**_Anyway_****, I haven't answer user comments in awhile, so I shall:**

TheWalkerChronicle, Nas4a2, and Michae1ange1o for the **Spider**.

CrimsonKnight117, sabba5600, and Biolegend712 for the **Bat**.

**So, we have a tie so far. I did not expect that, but perhaps the characters are too different to compare effectively. So, how about a new one: ****Deathstroke the Terminator vs. The Punisher****. Both are Vietnam vets who use a variety of weapons to kill for their own reasons. I think Deathstrokes healing factor would be negligible in a close up, one on one fight, so it can be ignored for the purposes of this fight.**

**Michae1ange1o: Damn. You are sharp. I felt I needed a name that was evil but not too overt like the' LEGION OF DOOOM' or something similar. What better name than a reference to one of the most infamous betrayals in history? On the Ark complaining level, I think he will come to… appreciate the training in the future, but he is still being held against his will and tortured in the present.**

**I would ramble more, but this chapter is long enough.**

**A WARNING: ****THE NEXT CHAPTER IS SOMETHING TOTALLY DIFFERENT. **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing, you stay classy. **

**If you read this chapter within six hours of its initial upload, I would like to apologize. Even by my _very_ lax standards, the copy/paste method I use failed magnificently. Its fixed now, though. **


	14. TEMPUS FUGIT

**SUBJECT: EXPU THOMPSON, A. **

All files relating to subject's imprisonment by ARD DRACUL, L.C., as requested by GD, BOSS.

*Note: All files taken directly from Mass Effect universe, not streamlined to Paladin standards.

**INCLUDES: **Subject/Subjects Allies/Warden's Extranet Logs, Subject/Subjects Allies/Warden's Extranet Messages, Security Logs pertaining to Subject/Subjects Allies/Warden, Subject/Subjects Allies/Warden's Requisition Orders, Subject/Subjects Allies/Warden's Medical Files, Miscellaneous Files pertaining to Subject/Subjects Allies/Warden.

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Sent 2170/Jan/03]

From: Thompson, A.

To: Shepard, M.

Subject: How are you?

Sorry for not keep in better contact Red, but Uncle is dragging me all over the Attican Traverse, making extranet contact slim at best. Anyway, how are you? I hear you and your Mom got reassigned to the Sol system and that you are attending some school in London? That's so cool! What's it like? Do you have Asari teachers for biotics or something different?

Things are fairly chill on my end, not much going on.

Ark

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Sent 2170/Jan/05]

From: Shepard, M.

To: Thompson, A.

Subject: RE: How are you?

WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?! MY BEST FRIEND DISAPPEARS AND DOESN'T TALK TO ME FOR LIKE, NINE F #KING MONTHS, THEN CALLS ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT LIKE SOME CRAZY A STALKER. THEN YOU IGNORE ME FOR ANOTHER 3 MONTHS, MOM HAS TO TRACK YOU DOWN, AND YOU IGNORE ME…AGAIN.

SCHOOL SUCKS! THE FOOD IS GOD AWFUL AND THE TEACHERS ARE RETARDS, YOU WOULD PROBLEY ENJOY IT, MISTER GOODY-GOODY.

YOUR FRIEND THAT YOU IGNORE: Red

P.S.: Please come by for a visit…please. Its soooooo boring here, and we never hang anymore. At least keep in better contact.

P.S.S.: Mom wants to know if you need anything, and asks if she can have your Uncles message address.

**SHADOW BROKER DOSSIER**

Project Samson

One of the four active cells run by the rogue agency for "advancement of humanity" known as Cerberus. This cells focus is insuring 'enhanced loyalty' among premium Cerberus personnel, which have high desertion rates. Early successes included microchips surgically attached to personnel spinal column, which can incapacitate rouge officers by simulating up to 45,000 volts of electricity. The cells secondary goal is gathering combat data, which is being used to jump start Project Phoenix.

Note that this cell operates in an atypical manner. Instead of being staffed by established Cerberus personal, the Illusive Man has given near total control to project Director Dracul. Dracul has established his own brand of totally loyal operators labeled as The 30 Coins, whose actions fall more in line with that of a cult worshipping Dracul rather than a paramilitary organization lead by Dracul.

Due to this cult of personality, agents have had extreme difficulty infiltrating and gathering information from Project Samson.

**EXTRANET SEARCH LOG, CAPT. SHEPARD, H. **[2170/Jan/30]

-Search Alliance Military roster for STF LIEUT OYARSA, M.

-Request transfer of STF LIEUT OYARSA, M. to SSV Einstein (request blocked by Paladin operatives)

-Search Citadel Newsnet: Ark Thompson (no results), James Ford (no results), Dracul Thompson (no results), Dracul Ford (no results).

-Search Extranet Website: Cerberus poker players (one result)

-Joined Hellhound Poker (Username: The Captain; Password: MeetraHackett)

-Played Hellhound Poker (Extensive use of chat system, asking for man named 'Dracul')

-Banded from Hellhound Poker (Moderators sight 3 Royal flushes, 4 Straight Flushes, and 2 full houses as evidence of cheating*, Winnings amount to $1,200 in three hours of play)

-Wiped Extranet history using military VI program

-Message sent to STF LIEUT OYARSA, M.

*Note: Hellhound Poker previously hacked by AA Michael, in attempt to locate EXPU THOMPSON, A. AA Michael sights his favorable manipulation of poker hands as a "just reward for a just crusader."

**30 COINS REQUISITION ORDER 2344216 **[Sent 2170/Feb/20]

From: A.I. Assistant 481-515-234-2

Dispatch Location: Subject Detention Center, Samson Cell

Item(s): Standard Medical Kit, Large-Double Hamburger, Medium Rare- Coca Cola, Large- Sharpening Stone, Synthetic.

Reason: Daily upkeep/ Moral boost

-REQUEST DENIED. AUTH: R.O. 121 REASON: Waste of Cerberus resources

-REQUEST HELD

-REQUEST APPROVED. AUTH: A.I. 481-515-234-2

-REQUEST HELD

-REQUEST DENIED. AUTH: DIR DRACUL, L.C.

**ALLIANCE SECURITY LOG 24772.B-69 **[2170/Mar/04]

Missing Persons Report

Subject: STF LIEUT OYARSA, M.

Location: Ares Space Station, Skyllian Verge

Subject failed to report to mandatory safety briefing, security squad dispatched to his room

UPDATE: Security squad reached subjects room; door appears to be wielded shut.

UPDATE: Security squad managed to force open subject's room, several nearly sucked into vacuum

CASE RE-CLASSIFIED: Rescue Mission

UPDATE: Squad of marines dispatched to room in full equipment.

UPDATE: Squad reports STF LIEUT OYARSA, M. window blown out, allowing vacuum of space into room. Squad reports subject not present.

UPDATE: Security footage confirms STF LIEUT OYARSA, M. was inside the room during decompression.

UPDATE: STF LIEUT OYARSA, M. presumed dead, no body found.*

CASE STATUS: Closed, Resolved.

*Note: AA Michael sights his abandonment of cover (STF LIEUT OYARSA, M.) as required to search for EXPU THOMPSON, A. Approval granted by: GD, BOSS.

**30 COINS MAINTENANCE DEPARTMENT MEMO 00723.A-23 **[Posted 2170/Mar/20]

From: ME PENDARAGON, J.

To: DIR DRACUL, L.C.

Subject: Security lapses in Prisoner 24601 cell

My most sincere apologize for disturbing you Director, but we may have a problem. Starting in December of 2169, security cameras inside Prisoner 24601 have been experiencing frequent failures, sometimes amounting to as much as two times a week. During this time, it would possible for Prisoner 24601 to do whatever he wants with only A.I. 481-515-234-2 overseeing him. I have the utmost confidence in the A.I. ability, he is your personal creation after all, but I have… conducted some research into the tech department. I know it is against regulations to do so without reporting, but I found that A.I. 481-515-234-2 has frequently been turned off for 'updating 'in recent months. We may have a spy in our midst.

With the utmost respect,

Master Electrical Pendaragon

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Sent 2170/April/11]

From: Thompson, A.

To: Shepard, M.

Subject: Happy Birthday!

HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM ALL OF US TO YOU. HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM ALL OF US TO YOU! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE 16?!

H...A...P...P...Y

BIRTHDAY!

*File Attached*

_Attached file contains E-card with a dancing cake_

Ark

P.S.: how does it feel to be on the receiving side of the power of CAPS LOCK

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Sent 2170/April/20]

From: Shepard, M.

To: Thompson, A.

Subject: RE: Happy Birthday!

You are intolerable. I really wish you could have been here, but I understand.

Red

P.S.:YOU WANT CAPS, ILL SHOW YOU CAPS

**30 COIN MORGUE REPORT 32454.C-22 **[2170/May/11]

Subject: ME PENDARAGON, J.

Time of Death: 9:09

Location: Barracks, Samson Project Base

Cause of Death: Approximately 1300 PSI of force applied to Pendaragons upper neck resulted in total destruction of the bone, leaving the subject paralyzed and in shock. Death result of suffocation, due to crushed wind pipe.

Notes: Director Dracul specifically asked for a basket of rose to be sent to Pendragon's wife.

**DRACUL JOURNAL ENTRY JULY 16, 2170**

*Note: Dracul writes in code used among upper echelon of 30 Coin operators (the real one, not the psudo-operation within Mass Effect) that is not fully decrypted.

×∞β£×≠

The child's progress appears to be… standard. He has proven to be fully capable of ±≠©Ω∑ and similar techniques, but he lacks the ÷×Ω€ necessary to fully manifest. Perhaps I am to expecting far too much, the child is the first to ≥∞©Ω in several millennium. We shall have to wait and see.

**INCIDENT REPORT-** **SAINT BARBARA'S MILITARY ACADEMY**

Reporter: Mrs. Fritzy Date: August 25, 2170

Students Involved:

Instigator: Mackenzie 'Meetra' Shepard

Victim(s): Carth Onasi, Jolee Bindo, Canderous Ordo

Incident: Shepard claimed that the victims had extorted steal credit chits from fellow student Bastila Shan for several weeks and were attempting to again. Shepard proceeded to confront the victims with several threats, which the victims ignored. Shepard then proceeded to assault the students, ending with Onasi unconscious and two nearly broken noses. The boys claim they will not bother Miss Shan again.

Punishment: Shepard has been assigned three days of in school suspension. Her Mother refuses to assist, claiming Shepard was justified in her actions.

**INSTANT MESSAGING TRANSCRIPT**-**SEPTEMBER 5, 2170**

CommandingCoolness:… then Canderous started crying. It was hilarious!

StrangerinStrangeLand: There has got to be something wrong with you, Red. It's not natural to take pleasure in others suffering.

CC: Look, goody-goody, I am proud of the fact I took on 3! boys that had me by 100 lb each. What have YOU done lately?

SSL: Yesterday I had to fight two squads of Eclipse mercenaries. Alone… by myself. Good thing I'm an alien cause I would have been in trouble otherwise.

CC: Bullshit.

SSL: Language!

CC: Please, I am MEETRA SHEPARD, THE SCOURGE OF BULLIES EVERYWHERE! I CAN SAY WHAT EVER THE HELL I WANT! But seriously, what did you do yesterday? We always talk about me.

SSL: I told you, fought two squads of Eclipse in a Citadel wherehouse.

CC: Of right, forgive me for assuming otherwise. I know how honest you are.

SSL: And what does THAT mean?

CC: CAPS LOCK IS BAD. It means, that for all your smugness, you are one lying sack of shit. You are capable of telling more lies in a minute than others have the possibility to in a lifetime. But you are my lying sack, so don't stop.

SSL: I fear you have no idea how right you are, Red.

CC: I try.

**30 COINS TECHNOLOGY DEPARTMENT MEMO 023639.A-11 **[2170/Oct/06]

From: TA MONTAGUE, A

To: DIR DRACUL, L.C.

My utmost apologies for intruding upon you, but I have found evidence of a traitor in our midst. Opening in December of 2169, A.I. assistant 481-515-234-2 has been directly interfered with frequently, sometimes amounting to as much as two times a week. During these intrusions, the A.I. is turned completely off, allowing Prisoner 24601 to proceed with whatever he wants without supervision excluding the security cameras within his room. However, my recent investigation has reviled that the security cameras have been off for 'renovation' at an alarming frequency. I am aware this investigation was against protocol, but I believe it was necessary for the good of the 30 Coins.

Regards,

Tech Assistant Montague

**30 COINS REQUISITION ORDER 2344216 **[Sent 2170/Nov/26]

From: Psychological Director, Samson Cell

Dispatch Location: Subject Detention Center, Samson Cell

Item(s): Military MRE-tranquiller laced x 30

Reason: Subject shows increased resistance to imprisonment and frequent emotional outburst; liable to hurt captors or self.

-REQUEST DENIED. AUTH: A.I. 481-515-234-2 REASON: Unnecessary

-REQUEST HELD

-REQUEST APPROVED. AUTH: P.D. 264

-REQUEST HELD

-REQUEST DENIED. AUTH: DIR DRACUL, L.C.

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Sent 2170/Dec/15]

From: Global Raffles Inc.

To: Thompson, A.

Subject: Congratulations!

Congratulation Mr. Thompson, on your winning of a model Alliance Fighter from Kassa Fabrications! As per your request, it will be mailed to Mrs. Meetra Shepard at Saint Barbara's Military Acadamy, to be received on December 25.

Global Raffles Inc.

**30 COIN MORGUE REPORT 45368.W-12 **[2170/Dec/28]

Subject: TA MONTAGUE, A

Time of Death: 9:15

Location: Barracks, Samson Project Base

Cause of Death: Approximately 1300 PSI of force applied to Montague's upper neck resulted in total destruction of the bone, leaving the subject paralyzed and in shock. Death result of suffocation, due to crushed wind pipe.

Notes: Director Dracul specifically asked for a basket of rose to be sent to Montague's young son.

**DRACUL JOURNAL ENTRY JANUARY 02, 2171**

*Note: Dracul writes in code used among upper echelon of 30 Coin operators (the real one, not the psudo-operation within Mass Effect) that is not fully decrypted.

×∞β£×≠

Major breakthrough achieved today. Subject was beaten to exhaustion by me, and then I proceeded to cut wrists. After several minutes of bloodletting, subject revived and allowed to fight. Subject showed increased ∏Ω≠ Ω∑ and greater control, reversing %#^&amp; by several minutes. This lends credence to the idea that the subject is still tethered, yet the tether can be strained by assault on physical manifestation.

More beatings neccisary.

I need to vary my training times more. I have been forced to kill two of my lieutenants, which is regrettable. As always, it remains ∏Ω≠≥ᶕ to insure Jack Harper does not gain insight into the child's power. He may be only human, but I am still not stable enough to eliminate his assists completely.

**CERBERUS SECURITY LOG 35124.A-70 **[2171/Feb/15]

Suspected Infiltration

Subject: UNKNOWN

Location: Cerberus Headquarters, Chicago, Earth

Security personal reported incapacitated by Southeast entrance, squad's dispatched and security level increase to Yellow.

UPDATE: Power to building cut, auxiliary power not responding.

UPDATE: Squad 3 discover annihilated at central juncture. Security level increased to Red.

CASE RE-CLASSIFIED: Full Force Attack

UPDATE: Squad 2 and Squad 5 dispatched to server room, attempted data mine in progress.

UPDATE: Connection with Squad 2 and Squad 5 lost near the server room.

UPDATE: Power returned to building, visual recording shows no opposing forces.

CASE STATUS: Closed, clean up in progress.

**CERBERUS SECURITY REPORT 35124.A-70 **[2171/Feb/25]

Subject: Attack on Cerberus headquarters, February 15

Time of Attack: 22:00

Location: Cerberus Headquarters, Chicago, Earth

Section 4, Paragraph iii

…with firewalls totally disabled, the as of yet unknown assailant had total access to any and all Cerberus information. It would have with its power to steal damning evidence concerning Cerberus involvement in the SSV Geneva incident, the operation of the Teltin Facility on Pragia, or even the assassination of Pope Clement XVI. However, the aggressor only took one piece of information. The location of one Cerberus cell, Project Samson.

Considering that Project Samson is concerned exclusively with the 'enhancement' of loyalty within Cerberus, it can be concluded that the assailant (again, I must stress the fact that all evidence points to no more than three combatants) was either a or acting on behalf of a former Cerberus operator.

**INSTANT MESSAGING TRANSCRIPT**-**APRIL 25, 2171**

StrangerinStrangeLand: Hey, you there Red?

CommandingCoolness has logged on.

CommandingCoolness: I am now; I swear to god, you message me at the most obscure times imaginable. Its… four in the fucking morning!1

SSL: Ohhhh… sorry.

CC: What's up, Rook? When you start incisively apologizing something is up.

SSL:… the worlds just heavy, you know. I can feel the walls of my… of the ship closing in. I can't breathe, you know?

CC: Ark… is everything okay? Every couple weeks you send me one of these messages, about how you feel like shit. It bothers me, a lot. You are my friend Rook, so I am going to tell you what I always tell you. IF YOU ARE IN TROUBLE, WE CAN GET YOU. Mom is…

StrangerinStrangeLand has logged off.

CC: Damn it

**ALLIANCE REQUISITION ORDER 983278 **[Sent 2171/May/04]

From: Hannah Shepard, Captain

Dispatch Location: Military Apartment 317, London, Earth

Item(s): Security Tapes for Ares Space Station, 2168 CE

-REQUEST DENIED. AUTH: UNKNOWN REASON: Classified

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Sent 2170/May/28]

From: Hannah Shepard

To: Steve Hackett

Subject: Ark

Listen to me very carefully Steve,

I know that Arks… departure has hurt you. Hell, the last time I saw you buried this deep into your work was when Meetra broke her leg in the second grade. I can understand that you don't want to remember Ark, he represents that ideal life you always said you wanted. The 'white picket fence' and all that stuff that I found so boring. I can sympathize with that.

What I can't sympathize with is the FUCKING APATHY you've been selling. The kid you treated as a son for 13 months just disappeared one afternoon without telling anyone and two members of 'Alliance Intelligence' claim they turned him over to his uncle. Tell me that does not scream abduction! Then, he disappears off the face of the know galaxy for nine months and then resumes contact so sporadic that he might as well be in prison. Despite my best efforts, he has managed to evade any mention of his location, family, or situation.

So here's what you're going to do. You are going to give me access to the security footage of Ares station so I can figure out what the hell happened to YOUR son. And you will do it now!

Shepard

**ALLIANCE REQUISITION ORDER 983278 **[Sent 2171/May/04] [Reissued 2171/June/01]

From: Hannah Shepard, Captain

Dispatch Location: Military Apartment 317, London, Earth

Item(s): Security Tapes for Ares Space Station, 2168 CE

-REQUEST DENIED. AUTH: UNKNOWN REASON: Classified

\- REQUEST APPROVED. AUTH: Admiral Hackett. S.

**30 COIN MEDICAL REPORT 65313.T-07 **[2171/July/12]

Subject: Prisoner 24601

Time of Admittance: 12:48

Location: Infirmary, Samson Project Base

Subject found in cell by Director Dracul during unscheduled check. Although A.I. assistant and visual recordings were both offline due to unscheduled overhauling to confirm, the Director testimony is more than proof of honesty.

Regardless, Prisoner 24601 shown to be unconscious due to lack of oxygen. Visual inspection (all technological scans continue to corrupt available machinery) shows marks on neck consistent with attempted murder via strangulation, concurrent with several wounds that seem to originate from a slashing weapon. Current perpetrator is unknown but irrelevant; subject is not human, after all. Bandaged and discharged.

On an unrelated note, the Director was treated for minor injuries to wrist. When asked, he revealed that he had fell down some stairs.

**EXTRANET MESSAGE **[Draft Saved 2171/Aug/13]

From: Steve Hackett

To: Ark Thompson

Subject: How are you?

Dear Mr. Thompson,

[Entry deleted]

Dear Ark Thompson,

[Entry deleted]

Ark Thompson,

[Entry deleted]

Ark,

[Entry deleted]

Dear James,

[Entry deleted]

Dear Mr. Ford,

[Entry deleted]

Dear Jim,

[Entry deleted]

Dear Son,

[Entry left opened for 30 minutes, saved to drafts]

**LONDON TIMES- OCTOBER 29, 2171**

Saint Barbara's Military Academy celebrates Homecoming

It has long been the time honored tradition of high schools across Earth to celebrate the return of students from there summer break with a dance. This year however, this long tradition has occurred with a new twist. Similar to last year's graduate class of New York Public School 13, which feature the first instance of a non-human successfully gaining a high school diploma, alien values have started to influence long held human customs. What makes the dance of St. Barbara's military so special is that the class is made up exclusively of human biotics. The London Times was there to cover the event and would like to wish special congratulations to Homecoming King Jason Spylock and Queen Meetra Shepard.

**TRANSCRIPT OF ILLIUM LOCAL NEWS, CHANNEL 234**

#Broadcast Date November 07, 2171

Asari news anchor: Hello, this is Halela Nurase reporting for channel 234 news. This week's top story: the robbery of the 2nd National Bank of Illium. With more news on this developing situation, we send you to Forwal Tazuo in the field.

Human news anchor: Thank you, Halela. At 5:45 in the morning, security at the Bank opened the vault to find a nasty surprise. Details are sketchy, but a statement given by the bank this morning confirms that at least 365 million in gold bars was stolen from the vault between the hours of 1 and 5. Currently, Illiums finest are on sight, sweeping the vault for evidence.

Asari: That's quite a large amount of money, Tazuo. Any clue as to the culprit?

Human: I spoke to the police chief just moments ago, who confirmed that no arrests have been made. However, he confided in me that there was no sign of forced entry into the vault, indicating this was an inside job.

Asari: Is it possible the private security operators were involved?

Human: Very unlikely, Halela. The security is from Blackwater Industries, one of the top rated security providers in citadel space today. Regardless, the guards rotate every 15 minutes, much to short a time to steal the gold from the vault.

Asari: Thank you, Tazuo, please keep us updated.

Human: Will do, Halela.

Asari: You heard it here first folks. Is this the start of a new crime spree? Is the 2nd Bank of Illium truly as secure as investors suggest? Will these evil doers be brought to justice? Keep it locked here to Channel 234 to find out!

**BILL OF SALE** (Signed December 7, 2171)

I; (name) Vido Santiago of the Blue Suns, hereby give permission to (client) Michael Oyarsa to use the (organization) 342nd Light Armored Brigade for (action) Frontline Combat Duties. I also acknowledge the reception of (payment) 365 million in gold bars as payment for the use of this service and that the buyer accepts all risks involved with the running of this group.

Upon the completion of this contract, (date) Febuary 23, 2172, the client will relinquish all claim to the product and sever all ties within.

Blue Suns.

* * *

**So… that was painful.**

**This chapter nearly killed this story, hence the larger than normal absence. I had been reading **_Alliance Personnel File: LCDR SHEPARD, J_ **by **FluffyCannibal **and had found it very funny. Coupled with the fact that I had around 15 years to fill in before the events of Mass Effect 1, which was way more than I had imagined in my head, I thought I could kill two birds with one stone.**

**Wrong.**

**Coupled this with writers block, reading other fanfiction, work, and moving into college for the first time, the story almost died. But it didn't.**

**I implore you however, to review this chapter harshly****. I need to know if this was a step in the right direction or not and I am far too close to the project to do it myself.**

**Also, I think I shall give you a reading guide:**

Because Dracul is doing something defiantly non-Cerberus approved with Ark, he has to turn off all recording software. This allows Ark a brief period of time with which he can view the outside world via the extranet, hence the E-mails and the like.

Meetra has gone to the next phase of human Biotics after BAat, which I basically had to create on the fly. Captain Shepard has transferred to London to be with her child, yet is still active military. Hackett is everywhere, having felt the loss of Ark deeply. I wonder why?

Michael is very alarmed he lost Ark. The mysterious "Boss" who appears to have brought Ark to Mass Effect and set Michael as his handler is watching the hunt with great interest. Michael can logically be assumed to be behind the attack of Cerberus headquarters on Earth, the bank robbery on Illium and the hiring of Blue Sun troops for combat. Why?

Something within the Alliance, likely Cerberus is attempting to halt inside (Shepard, Hackett) attempts to find Ark.

Captain Shepard has interesting passwords

Dracul thinks Ark is…something. What and why does this something seem very powerful?

**That's that.**

**Responses: **

**Not much concrete questions I can respond to but I must say I really appreciate **sabba5600 **enthusiasm. On another note, Deathstroke wins with two votes to the Punishers one. Too throw you a curveball for next time, ****Joker vs. Superman****. Assume the Joker has resources and prep time.**

**Here's hoping the next chapter comes easier than this one.**


	15. Deprogramming: Escaping the System

_Deprogramming: Escaping the System_

_Location: Project Samson, Mavigon (Han System/ Gemini Sigma)_

_Subject: Jean Smith_

_Time: 2172/ 11 years until the events of Eden Prime_

_Mental State: 90% Indoctrinated _

Jean Smith was once a normal person.

He was born into a middle class family, a mother who worked as an accountant for the local bank and a father who owned a small convince store. He went through the Earth public school system, getting average grades and making a normal amount of friends. When he turned 18, he gained access to a small college 45 minutes away from home and pursued a degree in Electrical Engineering.

Sophomore year, he met a girl. One meeting turned into several meetings, which turned into two years of extended courting which ended with a wonderful marriage ceremony. Jean's father played guitar at the reception and the story should have ended there with Happily Ever After.

It didn't.

You see, the Alliance government was looking for colonist to send to several of its newly terraformed planets. On the surface, it seemed like a great deal to any human. A 10,000 credit bonus for moving, coupled with 5 acres of farmland and a guaranteed job on the colony, many analysts called it "the manifest destiny of our time". The analysts and reviews failed to mention one thing. The small planet was on the very edge of the Skyllian Verge.

Even if you had told Jean that he was on the Skyllian Verge, he wouldn't have understood the danger. Even if you had explained to him that there were roving bands of Batarian slavers in the area, he wouldn't have changed his mind. So, off Jean went, with his young pregnant wife and hope in his eyes. And he lived in peace, for a time.

Then the "roving" Batarian's got restless.

It was a relatively small band that attacked Jeans planet. The raid sirens went off and the civilians fled into a bunker in the center of town. Jean picked up the old rifle he used to scare away wildlife from his home and joined a small band of militia mustering in town hall. He was ready to fight and die, to protect his young family with everything he had.

Of course, he never got the chance to do either. The slavers grabbed some families that hadn't moved fast enough to the bunker and took off, giving Jean no chance to test his spirt against them. The alarms ended, the civilians exited the bunker and held their loved ones in a long embrace.

The Batarian's fired one mass-accelerated round from high orbit, out of simple spite.

Jeans world ended with that shot. There was nothing left bigger than a figure to bury.

It was several days later a ship arrived in system and landed; a human ship. Aid workers and armed men rushed out, helping rebuild the shattered lives. Yet, they didn't only build, they preached. They spoke of a great "Cerberus" to protect humanity from alien aggression, how it was time to take the fight to the people who had taken so much.

Jean signed in a heartbeat.

The next four years was a blur of pain and guilt that he slowly turned into rage. Batarian, Asari, Turian, it didn't matter. They were the enemy, and he would gain his revenge on them. His passion was noted by a rising star in the Cerberus command system, a creature known only as Dracul. So it was only natural that he was chosen for an interview for a position in the new Project Samson.

It took 15 minutes for Dracul to twist this fictional, yet entirely real, man into a thrall. He would do anything for Dracul. Dracul was the only real thing worth living for in this broken man world.

Case of point, he was working the early morning shift at the FTL sensor, something that he had once hated. They were still on high alert after the little "incident" at Cerberus headquarters on Earth. However, that was months ago and a man, even a brainwashed one, could only stay attentive so long.

The three ships had warped into system an hour ago. They were rather unimpressive ships, old Turian frigates that had been very popular with miners a few years back for their versatility and durability. When they launched several objects at the planets, he simply assumed it was survey probes looking for Element Zero. The base was shielded from that sort of incursion, so he followed protocol and logged the ships, forgoing the alarm.

"Perimeter sensor three tripped."

The operations center froze, waiting the Directors orders. Jean rotated his chair away from the terminal to face the (empty) command chair. Dracul was in the center, lucking in the shadows. He rarely sat in the command chair anymore, like in the beginning. Whispers among the men noted he had not sat easily ever since the assault on Cerberus HQ, but Jean would not entertain such talk. He was there lord, he feared nothing.

Another string of beeping over took a faraway terminal, its lights flashing red and green in harsh contrast. "Perimeter sensors two, seven, and nine also tripped! Requesting instructions!"

"Visual and audio surveillance is down, backup sensors not responding! Possible EMP…"

"Negative on the EMP! Networking reports possible virus…" The networking system technician's were quickly over shouted by the rest of the command center, each section offering its own unique solution. Very loudly, of course.

Then the lights cut. Jean, along with the rest of his fellow soldiers, fell silent. For one brief moment, there was only the breathing of fifteen technicians as they were frozen in fear. Then one clear voice cut through the silence.

"Restart all electrical systems. Activate emergency power." Instantly, the panic receded from the agent's hearts and focus befitting a handpicked unit was restored. Jean took a second to glance at the dark figure at of the corner of his eye, drawing strength from the demonic presence. Not that he recognized it as an evil influence, but his mind was so far gone that the fires of hell would appear as a stairway to heaven. Perhaps it already had.

"Power restored, Director."

"Give me cameras two and seven now. Take us to red alert and notify marines." Jean acted on instincts long drilled into him, reaching under his terminal with one smooth motion and producing the yellow box.

The yellow box was only for the most dire of emergencies, such as a red alert. It didn't look any different from other containers, excluding the yellow reflective strip that had given the box its name. Inside, however, laid several game changers. A standard and well maintained pistol. An emergency transmitter. Three days' worth of dry rations. One cyanide pill.

These where laid out on the terminal of every technician, ready to be used in any order. And each one would, make no mistake.

"STOP!" Jean froze, mind blank. The Director never shouted. "Camera seven, full screen."

Despite his training, Jean couldn't help taking a look. The camera had frozen on what appeared to be the armory, judging by the sheer number of guns present. The guns, however, were likely the least impressive things in the picture.

The point man of the infiltration unit drew Jean's eye firsts; which was unsurprising, considering the raw hatred Jean associated with his kind. The Batarian was grizzled, snarling as his still frame figure rose to shoot out the camera. Behind him, two Turians where displaying their trademark military professionalism, stoic in the face of their snarling teammate. A flamethrower wielding human rounded out the bunch, his face smirking.

All and all, they were rather unimpressive, but they had one distinct feature. Each wore blue assault armor, with a touch of white paint forming a sun design.

"Blue Suns…" Jean whispered to himself. The mercenary group was well known for its success rate and it ruthlessness, charging the rates to match it. This told Jean two things: first, whoever was attacking them wanted them very dead and secondly, they had the resources to do it. Never a good combination. But Dracul would save them, he knew he would.

"Five similar teams are moving through the Project, orders sir?"

"Irrelevant, rewind current screen to 32.7 and freeze." Huh? How could five teams of trained killers be irrelevant? There were not enough men on station to repel this sort of incursion, let alone survive it.

"Damn!" Was all the warning Jean had before he was literally launched from his workstation by his commander. He heard his own arm snap to splitters as he impacted a wall with the force of a small missile. His vision blurred as has pain began to overwhelm his senses, crushing his spirt and leaving him to squirm helplessly on the ground.

But it was then he saw hell.

The beast on the screen was the very depth of hell. It was so… wrong in its appearance. It was so bright, a demon wearing white. His very mind was brand by one mere sight of the creature and he wanted to die rather than gaze again.

Luckily he didn't have to. In his reverie, Dracul had been very busy. The terminal had been occupying seconds before had ripped down to it bare wires and the Director was in the process in crossing several of them, which sparked before giving the desired result. The horrid picture disappeared, only to be replaced with a simple number, '15:00'. Then it started counting down, the large red number rapidly approaching zero.

Jean, filled with pain and questions, struggled to his feet. He was almost thrown again by his master as Dracul barreled out of the command center as if the white demon from the screen was on his heels. But he was not rated among the best Cerberus technicians for lack of will and he sprinted after his commanding officer.

Dracul moved inhumanly fast, weaving and ducking through the labyrinth of ruins that was once a top secret paramilitary base. He passed rubble and bodies, of both allies and enemies. Some of the bodies where in states far too ghastly to describe, but those concerned Jean the least.

Every few steps, Jean would encounter a perfect body. No bullet wounds, no slashes, not a mark on any kind. Their faces though, spoke only of death. There expressions only gave the epitome of pain. It was a face that Jean knew all too well; it was the face he had made as his wife and child were deconstructed into primordial goo.

He heard him before he saw him. Yet another squad of Blue Sun merc's lay vanquished at his feet, their faces wide with the knowledge of the coming doom. He was forcing open a blast door with his bare hands, a feat that Jean would have thought impossible once. He knew that anything was possible under Dracul's leadership.

"Sir, your orders?"

Dracul barely speared a glance at him. "You are dismissed. I have no use for you, go as you wish."

The technician's eyes bulged. "I must have heard you wrong, sir. What are your orders?"

One exasperated sigh came from Dracul's maw. Two red eyes turned to Jean, drilling into his own.  
"Go. Away. The only reason I have not killed you is that it is indefinably more pleasurable for you to take your own life. You don't even have a soul to corrupt."

For the yet another time on this strange day, Jeans mind descended into pure unaltered confusion. All project Samson technicians knew there commander was something of an eccentric, almost appearing not quiet human at times. It didn't matter however; he was brilliant all the same.

So like Icarus before him, he ran blindly after the brilliance the demon provided.

"But sir," he had to jog to maintain pace with Dracul's large stride. "where are the men supposed to go?"

With one last shove, the blast doors fell of their hinges and Dracul stormed through. "They are supposed to go to their deaths." Then, under his breath, he added. "As are you."

Jean, ignorant of Dracul's final comment, took a moment to mourn. He was not particularly close to his comrades in arms, a side effect of the fact that the majority of the soldiers were very damaged people. It hadn't taken long to discover that every handpicked officer in the Samson Project had suffered some great lost in their past, some event like Jean's that left them unconcerned with human interaction. They only had loyalty to Dracul, him alone.

Still, he would be less than human if he didn't pray for dead men. He would be like the Batarians.

A sharp pain brought him back to reality, reminding him of his weakened state. The combination of adrenaline and blind fear of the white demon was wearing off, leaving him with a throbbing arm and fleeting hope. He had only one option at this point, to press on.

He fell into step behind the swirling shadow that was Dracul, trying to stay on alert in case they ran into another squad of Blue Suns. He failed; of course, a broken arm tends to do that to you. Things seem to be… blurry. The step he took on the concrete seemed distant and cold. However, he did notice that they were going into a restrictive area.

There was exactly one area in the base that Jean had not seen since he got here. The Director was the only one with access to the western end of the base, usually disappearing there twice a week. Conventional wisdom held that there was some private workshop or launch bay in that area, not that the men were encouraged to speculate. However, there had to be something there that they could use to escape this place. Why else would they be here?

A keycard scan later, they were in a chamber older than the rest of the base. Knife slashes covered the walls and what appeared to blood splatters only served to accent the general antiquity of the facility. It was clear that whatever battle had taken place here had occurred long ago, leaving only ruins in its wake.

A loud banging issued from the shadows, disrupting the peace the chamber had provided. Spinning, almost passing out from the pain as his arm flopped at his side uselessly; Jean cautiously watched his commanding officer pound on a seemingly random wall with his fists.

What happened next wasn't entirely surprising, Jean almost expected it. The random panel slide back, creating a doorway of sorts that broke the shadows of the arena. What happened after that, however, would scar Jean for the remainder of his (rapidly ending) life.

Some… creature crawled out. It was humanoid, clothed in the tattered remnants of an orange prisoner's uniform, now stained a metallic red. Its long and uneven hair was matted, coated in some gooey substance that obscured its original color. These long hairs hide most of its face, but for one eye that look like that of the corpses that Jean had passed to get here. That eye stared blankly at him.

"Child, kill him." The nail on Jean's coffin was delivered with the emotion of one ordering a meal or making a passing comment about the weather. Jean almost didn't catch the meaning of the phrase, his wounds and stress blotting out things such infinitesimal as words, but he did have the sense to stare at the maker of his coming doom.

The voice that replied was horse from disuse, but his quiet answer echoed across the chamber. "Why?"

Two red eyes that floated in the shadows narrowed, glaring at the emancipated form. Jeans eyes flicked to them, praying for the safety that Dracul had always provided. His faith was rewarded with a simple, "Because I command you too."

And he did

* * *

_Subject: Prisoner 24601_

_Mental State: Falling_

Something was wrong…

I mean… besides the fact that I was freezing to death slowly in a metal cage and I was bleeding from several rather impressive cuts and I hadn't had any food in a long time and I was scared and I couldn't stand and…

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

It wasn't those things. Those things were always there. Something…new was wrong.

I strained my senses to their limits, pushing aside the chill of the cell and the warmth of my blood to find the… difference. I still felt nothing. It would be bad form for a prisoner to know existence outside his cell, and my tomb was more than able to block attempts at sense. That or I had become deaf and blind for a time.

It had happened before. Sometimes training necessitated it.

So I settled back into my curled position, back pressed up against the wall that felt just a degree warmer than the rest. I didn't dream or remember or even think, not in a proper term at least. I simply stared at one of the many cuts on my arm, watching as the blood pooled and beaded together. Its agonizingly slow trail down to the tips of my figures was riveting, I nearly worshiped it.

Then the wrongness occurred again.

It wasn't so much of a physical sense as a spiritual one; a sixth sense that warned me that danger was fast approaching. I dragged myself to my feet this time, clutching the last possession I owned in my hand. It was the machete, of course. The weapon that had been by my side since the beginning of this hell.

Then it happened.

Knock, knock, knock. Three large bangs reverberated through his cell, originating from the southeast wall. Shit. That wasn't good, he's here. Damn, what did I do? I didn't… what does he want? I can't… I can't damn his here and he's gonna hurt and I'm going to die. Dear God, I'm gonna die and I'm gonna go to hell and I won't see my family again and I'm not ready not ready not ready.

As the wall rose, my emotions left with it. The intense fear that had inhabited me moments earlier was washed away, leaving the most intense, overriding calm in its place. Ark Thompson was gone, Prisoner 24601 was in control.

Prisoner 24601 proceeded through the door way, awaiting instructions. It noted that Dracul was early for training; he usually didn't come for another several hours. This data was storied and readied for processing at a later date, but was proven irrelevant moments later.

Dracul had been feeding. His red eyes where particularly bright and he wore his feral grin with pride. Small bits of rubble covered his normally immaculate uniform, along with blood on his shoes. Also, the chamber which had not seen the presence of another individual besides Prisoner 24601, Ark, or Dracul in over a year had a new occupant. A standard technician by the look of him, lack of balance indicates slight concussion and odd angel of right arm means it's broken.

Prisoner 24601's brain went into overdrive. It was unlikely that the Director and the technician had come into direct conflict; the technician would be a husk by now. State of both indicated conflict, which likely originated from some sort of third party. Perhaps the base was being invaded? An attempted coup on Dracul's leadership?

No for the first time, 24601 wish for the trove of data that had been am A.I. assistant 481-515-234-2. After Ark's attempt to escape, which end with a broken figure and three missing teeth, Dracul decided he had been far to forgiving with his apprentice. Both the Prisoner and Two's were punished for it, ending with the latter's decommission and the complete removal of the entirety the formers creature comforts. Ark had…struggled without the social aspect of life. 24601 merely walked on.

"Child, kill him." To any other being, Dracul's command might have seemed stoic, but Prisoner 24601 knew better. Dracul might sound detached, but he was truly excited at the chance to play with his favorite toy.

_"__I won't let you do this."_ The faint voice of Ark whispered in the back of 24601 head. _"__It's not right."_

_"__If we kept doing what you thought was 'right',"_ the Prisoner snarled _"__we'd be dead by now."_

_"__And this is living?"_

"Why?" Why must Ark always do this? Ark NEEDED him. The apathy and docility of Prisoner 24601 was the only thing that had stopped Dracul from killing them, or worse, Ark killing himself. Yet every time the Prisoner would try to ensure their survival, he would resist.

It wasn't until Dracul turned to stare at the Prisoner did he realize he had said those words out loud. Had he been as emotional as his host, he might have winced in fear, but that wouldn't help. He simply stared ahead and waited for either the pain or answers to begin.

"Because I command you too." Not only an answer, but a solution.

Ignoring the indignant screams of Ark in the back of his head, 24601 launched forward. He was upon the technician in an instant, grabbing his uniform by the collar and lifting. A quick tap to his broken forearm insured he had no resistance as his subject writhed in pain.

Then Prisoner 24601 started to feed.

Neither the Prisoner nor Ark knew exactly what happened when they were 'feeding'. Best they could figure from Dracul's insane ramblings and several test runs; they sucked some sort of life force out of the victim. The only indication that something was happening was in there eyes. Their eyes would always dim slowly like that of a dying flame, until nothing but ashes remained.

Needless to say, Ark would usually be sick. That's why 24601 had to do it.

It took less than a minute to reduce the technician from a fully functioning creature to a very well persevered cadaver. Letting his body fall to the ground, the Prisoner quickly searched his body for anything of value. He found only a picture of the technician, surround by his young family.

_"__He had a family."_

_"__Shut up."_

Discarding the picture to the floor, the Prisoner turned towards his master, awaiting orders. Before he could turn, he found himself on his knees as pure pain flowed through his system. He twisted like a fish on land as heavy footfalls approached him, before a hand gripped his hair, forcing his face up.

"Child, I am fond of you. You display an equal measure of independence and intuitive that has allowed you to pass my challenges." He jerked his head painfully to the side. "But don't forget who you serve."

"Yes, sir." I replied.

Another glare. Dracul's hand curled over the controller that was the source of my pain. "Yes what?"

"Yes master." 24601 answered in my stead.

His eyes narrowed, but then he nodded. Turning he gestured with his hand for me to follow. I fell into step behind him as we walked to the exit of the antechamber. In the lack of danger, Prisoner 24601 leaked out and was replaced by me.

_"__It would be easy to shoot him in the back."_

_"__You know it wouldn't work."_

I almost stopped when Dracul casually strolled through the open doorway. I hadn't been outside of this cage for a long time, I almost couldn't. I squared my shoulders and followed through in the end, staring at my surroundings with wide eyes. I noted the faint sound of gunshots and explosions in the distance, readying my knife to kill if needed.

I was disappointed to find we had very quickly approached our destination. With a swipe of a key card, we entered a seemingly unimpressive storage room. I watched the hallway, weary of any enemies as the Director searched for…something.

"Child, your effects." A dull thunk brought me away from my vigil.

_"__Is that…"_

_"__Yes."_

It was my Zero Halliburton case. My most important objective in this universe was finally in my grasp once again. For the first time ever, I totally ignored the demon. Placing the machete on the table, I couldn't help but run my hands over the case. They came back coated in dust, but it was worth it. I had to make sure there wasn't a single mark or imperfection on the case.

Its contents were my life, after all.

_"__You should open it."_

_"__Here? You're insane."_

"I had a team of engineers working around the clock for six month's trying to break that box. It was quiet amusing to watch, actually. They tried acids, hammers and everything in between, but they got nowhere." He placed a small black square on the table next to it. "They made some progress on this one, however. They finally managed to prevent it from destroying every computer it was place in just as I grew bored with the attempt."

I managed to sneak my hand out and pocket the flash drive during his monologue. I could actually open it now, when I had access to a terminal. The question was doing with Dracul noticing…

_"__We could open it FOR Dracul…"_

_"__Are you goddamn insane?"_

"I wonder," I flinched back as Dracul's red eyes glared into mine, suddenly way to close for comfort. "If I should have retained interest a while longer. That case has something of great importance to you, doesn't it?"

I took a step back, clutching the case to my chest tightly. This was the wrong thing to do, as Dracul grinned like a feral dog. "It's a gift from Michael, isn't it? Something relating to your purpose in this mockery of reality. How very curious." A pause. "I could take it from you."

_"__Shit, shit, shit. We gotta run…"_

_"__Assuming Control."_

The mask of Prisoner 24601 slammed down over my frazzled emotions in an instant. I distantly felt my muscle forcibly relaxed as the absolute picture of apathy was once again projected into the querying eyes of Dracul. Only one thing remained in motion, my eyes. They carefully darted between my machete on the table and the fear in front of me.

Come hell or high water, we were not letting Dracul touch this case again.

Prisoner 24601 evaluated the threat in front of him. During their training, the two had sparred often with a variety of weapons. 24601 had always lost…badly. Dracul had access to both incredible power and what appeared to be centuries of skill that it was simply not possible to match. If it came to a fight, 24601 reasoned, best chance was to grab the machete and try to run.

He would still lose. But he might live just long enough to…

"I won't, of course. You understand that time is short, my child. I simply don't have time to fight you. However, these circumstances have given me a particularly enlightening idea." With a flick of the wrist, he once again brandished the controller. "Your training has been rather boring of late, Child. If you want to continue down the path of power I have opened for you, come find me." Then he push the button.

It didn't take long for the pain to force me to my knees, then into a fetal position as 45,000 volts of electricity pumped through my nerves. I managed to curl my body around the case, protecting it from my tormentor. The volts never stopped.

At the end though, I thought I heard a voice. It seemed to be coming from the brightest of lights and I crawled towards it. When I collapsed at its base I swore I heard it speak.

"My friend, I am so sorry." Then nothing.

* * *

**Hmmmm… Welcome back, I suppose.**

**This chapter was rather interesting. I change the POV to that of Jean so that the viewer wasn't totally lost as to what was going on, and I think I succeeded. I actually enjoyed writing that part.**

**Ark's part was indefinitely more troubling. I rewrote his part around four times before I was even slightly satisfied with the presentation and it could STILL be better. It annoyed me greatly.**

**Also, once again, note the 'supernatural' tag. If you have a problem with Ark vampircally draining people, consider that I warned you.**

**IMPORTANT: A big ****thank you****to everyone who commented last chapter, you really helped me out. I honestly have no idea if my writing is piss poor or not, so the more vocal you are, the better I can try to be. Please be honest and as brutal as you feel you need to be.**

**Questions:**

sabba5600-**It is honestly my pleasure to write to any reviewers who read my work as long as I am able, so just keep asking questions and they will be answered. I agree I would never write an entire story in that style, it causes way to much stress if nothing else. Next chapter SHOULD be very important to establishing the origins of Ark's backers and their motives, so please tell if there are any question you want answered.**

5 Coloured Walker- **Honestly, I'm really struggling with where I should cut this story. Should I just keep writing until I end Mass Effect 1? Should I stop and start a new story just as Mass Effect begins? I have no idea and would much appreciate any input on this point.**

Lunatic Pandora1- **You're question is the reason that I had to rewrite Ark's part four times. I ****_couldn't_****(in a style sense, not moral one) write the story well enough to show just how messed up he should be. I hope the end product does show his… torture well.**

TheMysticalFett- **Oddly enough, Hacket's bit was the easiest one to write, it was all the others I struggled on. I am quite happy you enjoyed the change of pace, as that was what I was looking for when I wrote the passage.**

helenGet- **Glad you asked. That was what is called a 'patchwork story' which is a group '**of**shorter works in the same continuity, which were then edited together to form a single more-or-less coherent narrative.' It was more of a change of pace chapter and useful for the time jump, in a more meta sense.**

Guest- **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**Okay, on another note, I have re-posted chapter one with some changes. By 'some changes', I mean I burnt down the disgraceful work and replaced most of it. Do see if it is better or worse.**

**Also, might have changed the story summary.**

**Have a good one, people. See you next time. **


	16. Deprogramming: Opening the Doors

_Deprogramming: Opening the Doors_

_Location: Classified_

_Subject: Ark Thompson_

_Time: Unknown_

_Mental State: Re-booted_

It was some sort of… itch. A queasiness that I could feel in my stomach and won't go away. It burned so intensely sometimes that I felt like rolling into a ball and simply dying; yet, other times I could plaster a smile over my face so effectively even I would forget the pain.

It didn't help that it was all consuming, either. Once the pain started, it would take all my energy and drive to do anything with it. The best I could do was sit and try not to fall back into the pool of memories that only promised more pain and suffering. I would bob my head when addressed, jump when it was asked of me, but I was never 'in it'. My brain was simply a passenger as my body kept operating, lacking the soul it once prized.

I didn't even know what to call this situation either, which didn't help. I could say some of it was homesickness. I had been here for years now, and was missing even the smallest gust of wind that could have reminded me of home. Some of it was shame. The remembrance of all my failures piling up upon my back in an endless tidal wave of crushing mediocrity. A chain that would stop me from ever truly accepting anything, even myself.

Then, of course, there was the physical pain. The cut from a knife, an ache from a run, or even the stubbing of a toe would collaborate with the itch to drag me down.

I hated the itch so much.

The worlds swirled as I forced my eyes open, seeking any possible escape from the itch. Every color in the rainbow, and some that weren't, greeted me. For the barest of seconds, I entertained the notion that I had entered some sort of giant kaleidoscope. God, that wouldn't even surprise me at this point.

The panic started when I found I couldn't move my arms or legs, they were bound. Years of training and animalistic instinct kicked in within seconds as I started to thrash futilely around in the hope of escape. Each movement burned, a grim reminder Dracul had used his electronic leashing much longer than intended.

"Ark, you're gonna be alright." The voice echo from my left, causing me to flinch away. It was a soft voice, angelic. But I was not fooled. Dracul had many tricks that he would use to weaken my will, get in my head. What kind of idiot did he take me for?

"You know that? Is that what you know?" I mumbled tiredly. My head fell back to the padded table with a dull thud, signifying my defeat. I felt the last of my strength leave me, the combination of the itch and my panicky thrashing turning my body into a pulp. I just waited for pain to come, like it always did when I had failed my master.

Dracul, not master.

I flinched when I felt the cuffs slowly loosen. What was the demon planning?

Summoning the last of my strength, I force my eyes open. It took a second to adjust my sight to the darkness that surrounded me, but what I saw was slightly confusing. I appeared to be in a cheap hotel room, complete with a twenty-first century television and pieces of artwork. An emergency evacuation plan glued to the door sealed the deal, and I was half tempted to open the night stand to see if there was a Bible shoved in.

Then I saw her.

It was definitely a she, no doubt in my mind. Even in the dark, I could make out the long hair and… curves. Yeap, she had curves. However, she was very clearly not a damsel. There was the smallest sheen of light that glanced off hip, typical of a knife or similar weapon. The slight thunk she made as she walked indicated combat boots, not high heels. I place that chance of her being in some sort of military or mercenary group as 90% or higher.

Long days of combat against enemies, both virtual constructs and servants of Dracul, kicked my brain into high gear. If I moved fast enough, I could grab the knife, roll away and be ready to flee or attack as the situation developed. I took a breath to steel my nerves.

Apparently, I was much, _much_, weaker than I thought. The deep breath launched me into a coughing fit that hurt like hell. I tasted blood, which indicated either I had internal bleeding or I had bit my tongue. Could be both, I guess.

A hand grabbed my arm, pulling me up into sitting position. Some glass was shoved into my hand, along with an order to drink. It was the best glass of water I had ever tasted, cool and clear.

"You almost died, several time." The voice chimed from the dark. "If we hadn't brought you here, the continued shocks from that device would have caused a heart attack. I'm sorry we didn't act sooner."

I took a moment to collect myself, mulling over her words. The tone was one of total regret, which surprised me. I still didn't know who she was or who she represented, but I felt I could trust her. So I answered truthfully.

"Don't be." Wow, my voice sounded like a heavy chain smoker. "It wasn't you fault."

A weight settled to my right, indicating the woman had sat next to me. I had to lean to keep from falling off the bed. "I could have argued more." Her voice was now a whisper. "This whole op has been unfair and poorly executed from start to finish. You didn't deserve to suffer for that. I should have gone down and protected you but…" She trailed off.

I tried to take this opportunity to get a better look at her, but it was still painfully dark. She had appeared to be about a head shorter than me and looked to be fair skinned. She had her head bowed, which had the interesting effect off hiding the majority of her face under her hair. She was wringing her hands in what appear to be nervousness. I quickly looked forward when she started speaking again.

"I wish I could blame Michael." That got my attention, she knew Michael? "He was supposed to be there! I trusted him and… well, you know how that turned out. But Dracul came out of nowhere and…" She sighed heavily.

I was totally confused at this point. She knew Michael? Michael was supposed to be somewhere? Also, she seemed to know me? How? Why? I turned to voice these questions, but it died when I saw to sight in front of me.

The best I could describe her was to compare her to that of a dying bird. She had sorta folded into herself; shoulders slumped in defeat, head bowed, and she was leaning away as if she expected me to launch into a rant on her short comings. It was the lowest a living being could appear.

Now, I don't claim to be an expert on anything, but I had some very minor experience in this area. One summer, I had found one of my female coworkers had locked herself in the manager's office. After finding the keys, I discovered her crying because her parents had kicked her out of the house. Oddly enough, she was more concerned about her pet dog than herself. Regardless, it was really unsettling to have her bailing her eyes out, so I did about the only thing I could.

Drawing from my memories, I did to this mystery woman what I had done for her. I reached over and patted her (very awkwardly, I'm sure) kindly on the shoulder. I couldn't help but wince when I felt her stiffen under the attention, but I was past the point of no return now.

"My Mother had a saying," I said with my smoker voice. "She would say 'this too will pass', you have to believe that this will pass too."

Now, after this I had managed to flag down a female colleague and get the hell out of the manager's office before I had to deal with anymore squish emotional stuff. I doubted that this would happen to me this time, so I waited with bated breath for a response.

Turns out, God was on my side. My coughing fit returned with a vengeance at that moment, filling the awkward silence with the sound of my hacking. The girl jumped up before grabbing the glass from my hand and walking smartly into what I assumed to be the bathroom. I heard the tap turn on a moment latter.

Damn, that was close. I always felt I was bad at all that mushy stuff.

With the lady suitably distracted, I tried to find a tissue on the nightstand. I needed to see if I was spiting up blood still and a tissue would help with that. Also, I wanted to turn on a lamp. For obvious reasons, I wanted to see who I was dealing with here.

In the next second, the world exploded.

The opposing end of the room exploded in pure white light that was so intense I could _feel_ my eyes begin to burn. I let out a scream before tumbling backwards off the bed, landing heavily on the other side. Still, all I could see was pure white, even with my eyelids shut and my hands pressed over them. The pain was totally unique and volatile; a combination of a migraine and burning that was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

Then the shouting started.

"LIEUTENANT, HOLSTER YOUR WEAPON!"

"CLOSE THE DOOR, YOU KNOW WHAT…"

"WHY ISN'T HE RESTRAINED?"

A loud thud issued from the other side of the room, and I felt the light recede somewhat. But it still stayed seared onto my retina, much to my displeasure.

"Lieutenant, I don't like it either, but protocol clearly dictates…"

"What I don't like is you barging in here and nearly killing him! Also, screw protocol, _sir_."

A second later, I was manhandled onto the bed by a very strong individual. I put up a good tussle, considering I was blind and in a large amount of pain, but this guy was strong. Last time I got manhandled like this was when I got thrown by a Krogen during simulated training, and even that was not close to the strength of this guy. I gave up when I felt three of the four bindings tighten around my various limbs, plus I was too tired.

"Lieutenant, check him."

"Yes, _sir_." Wow, I did not know it was possible to say 'sir' with that amount of distain.

Two figures forced my eyes open, which had absolutely no effect on the pure white light blazing my sight. There was a light muttering in some indistinguishable tongue and a cool breeze graced my face before I felt the light begin to recede. I was plunged into darkness once again.

The voice, which I identified as masculine, spoke to my right. "Well, my friend, it's a pleasure to see you again. I must apologize that I… didn't come sooner, but new events were developing."

The voice was familiar, that much was certain. It teased of a time long past when things were different. Perhaps 'different' was the wrong term, however. My addled brain flew into action throwing out adjectives such as, 'normal' or 'complete'. But I eventually found the truth.

Before I had heard this creature's voice for the first time, things had been better.

"Michael."

"Ahhhh, it is good to see you too my friend. Especially, or perhaps despite, the circumstances." A light sprang to existence on the nightstand, momentarily causing me to panic, fearful of my early experience with lights. This one, however, was a dull yellow that allowed me to make out my two visitors.

Michael was looking as aristocratic as ever, sporting a physique that challenged that of Michelangelo's _David_. He had change absolutely zero since I last saw him… three years ago? Four? It didn't matter. He was dressed in a blue military uniform that looked like had just marched out of World War One, trench coat and all. Several medals on his chest, along with three gold stars on his shoulder marks told me he was important, but I had guessed that already.

I really wasn't focusing on him, however.

My protector was…stunning. Even though a similar uniform covered her (significantly less medals and a lower rank, of course) she was very attractive. Blonde, which I happened to like, hair cascaded down to the middle of her back, except for her bangs, which hung over her left eye. The fact that she was sending a glare at Michael that could melt lesser men notwithstanding, she was one of those people you could never forget after seeing. The brown eyes she sported could melt a heart.

All in all, I would really like to take her to see a movie sometime. But, she was way outta my league. Like, it was laughable that she would take a second look at me, let alone speak to me.

"I owe you an apology, my friend." I jumped slightly, causing Michael to frown. "I didn't pay as much attention to your situation as I should have. I could offer you excuses, but I feel they would seem empty."

For one terrible moment, I felt white hot rage slide down through every fissure of my body. I could see my hands breaking out of the restraints, reaching out and strangling Michael. Perhaps I would swipe the girl's knife on the way down and stab it into his body. Over and over, until blood was sprayed over the floor and my white shirt turned red. Then I would run, flee to Dracul…

I shook my head vigorously, trying to banish those thoughts. The girl had said it wasn't his fault and I would trust her word for now.

"Also, it is regrettable that you have to be restrained. I and the Lieutenant as well, insisted that you were no threat. However, some members on the high command are not as trusting as we are. It is no matter, you are here now and you are safe."

Huh, I don't see why this 'high command' bothered. It's not like I could escape out of the room, there was a goddamn sun siting in the middle of the hallway. I can't fight past a sun, even if I hadn't been charcoal broiled by Dracul. Speaking of…

"Shouldn't I be dead?" I couldn't help but watch the girl visible wince at that statement. Odd.

Michael just gave me a once over, then a shoulder shrug. "Technically, you did. We were not able to treat you with the archaic things you call 'technology' in that plane. That's why you're here, my friend."

"And where is here?" I couldn't help but ask.

A grim smile graced Michaels face. "That, my friend, is classified."

"Sir," the blonde spoke from her vigil. "You just reiterated that he is not a security risk, surely you…"

"Now, Lieutenant…" I tuned them both at this point, stuck at one point. 'Classified', what a shitty word. My life ended because I was a 'classified' experiment. Project Samson was a 'classified' Cerberus cell. My species existence and subsequent experimentation was a 'classified' development.

"_I don't deserve this_." The thought snuck into my head like a thief, and was just as dangerous. What did I deserve? I didn't deserve anything. I had been given gifts, talents, skills and I had thrown them away for nothing in my old life. I had live as all of my peers had done, nameless and unremembered. I had earned nothing from that.

Then I was sent here, I was given the chance some people spend a life time longing for. What's more, I had the foreknowledge to change the lives of billions of people for the better. Yet, what did I do with this shot at glory? I ran back to the cage; hide behind the façade of being a nobody who just happened to know a somebody.

Do you remember that itch I had talked about? It was back.

I heard a series of snaps, bring out of my inner monologue. "…rk...Ark, you alright?" The girl was starting at me like a hawk, studying me. I twitched under the scrutiny.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What were…?" I paused to cough a here, damn that was getting annoying. "…talking about?"

"Sir, could the mental recalibration be affecting him? The healers said it was harmless but…"

The man just sighed, glancing at the Lieutenant in mild annoyance. "You have so little faith, child." I had an uncomfortable flashback to Dracul's pet name for me. "Don't worry. His mind will heal, as will his body."

I tried to follow what these two where saying, but found myself falling flat. Mental recalibrations? What the hell did that mean? Why does my mind need healing, what the hell does that entail.

Michael took a glance a very ornate pocket watch that just reinforced my idea that he was cosplaying as some WW1 reenactor, before standing up. "I think it is best if we stop here, my friend. You are going to be very busy soon; you'll need your rest." With a nod to the girl, who gave a picture perfect salute in turn, he began to exit my quarters.

For one terrible moment, I was no longer in a pseudo-hotel room. The cheap art and tables bled away, replaced with four walls of steel. I could feel the temperature drop suddenly and I instinctively tried to curl up within myself, to no avail. I felt the silence of the room deafen me, its darkness blind me. I knew, even though it was impossible, that Dracul would walk and demand I kill someone.

Who would it be this time? Was it the cute young waitress from Illium that would cry for an hour before I pulled the trigger? Was it the old Turian veteran would ask for one last chance to see his grandson before I stabbed the knife into his stomach? Or worse, a young child that just wanted his mom?

And every time I had to do these things, I remembered. I remembered the mere fact _I wasn't supposed to be here_! I should have been graduating high school, enjoying my first year of college, making memories. Instead, I was in this damn universe getting the hell beat out of my by some guy I didn't know, for some test I didn't know, on behalf of some other guy I barely knew.

My mind snapped back to the room just in time. "Wait! You can't just…" my mind stuttered to a halt for a second. "…Why am I here? Who are you? Who is Dracul? What the hell is going on?!"

An unnatural silence fell on the occupants of the room after my outburst. Michael had frozen, wither in contemplation or anger I did not know, with his hand on the doorknob. Blondie was starting at me as if I had grown a second head, eyes wide. I was too busy glaring down Michael, desperate.

Let me reiterate. I don't know ANYTHING about this situation. The sum total of my knowledge is as follows. So guy named Michael came to my school and acted like he knew me. A day later, I wake up in a world that was previously a video game with said person, who hands me a Zero Halliburton case, informs me I must keep its contents safe at all costs and survive the Reaper invasion. A short while later I am kidnapped by a sadistic creature called Dracul, who somehow knows Michael, and am turned into his personal chew toy.

My only clue as to the identities of these parties is the contents of said case. It gave me a fairly good idea as to who Michael is, but that is it. I can only go so far on faith alone here, and I need some goddamn answers.

"Wait," Blondie spoke to my left. "he doesn't know?"

An exasperated sigh issued from Michael. "No, lieutenant, he doesn't."

I could feel the outrage building in the being to my left, not all that dissimilar than a volcano about to explode. She took a step to the right, placing herself directly between Michael and me, forcing me to push myself back in my restraints to see what was going on. When she spoke, it was chillingly empty of emotion.

"Are you telling me you just plucked him from his life and dropped him in the mission zone with nothing? How is he supposed to succeed without mission parameters? Weapons? Intelligence? He doesn't even have the most basic training for…"

"Lieutenant, enough!" He interrupted forcefully. "Firstly, I will not have you questioning my operation, is that clear?" A staring match ensued; end by the Lieutenant giving a stiff nod. "Secondly, this entire operation hinges on absolute secrecy; he should consider himself lucky he knows as much as he does."

He paused before continuing. "I'm granting you permission to educate him Lieutenant, don't make me regret it. This, of course, does not alleviate you of the duties of the Tributary Directive." He turned to me once again, flashing a smile. "I once again suggest you rest, my friend, you will need it."

With a turn of the heels and a flash of that ungodly bright light (thankfully I managed to brace myself), he was gone.

That just left me, and the blond. A very angry blond that was currently clenching and unclenching her fists like a boxer before a heavy-weight title match. I tried to appear as small and unintimidating as possible as I awaited the coming explosion.

Luckily for me, she apparently knew how to control her anger. A few deep breaths later, she had calmed down sufficiently that I was no longer afraid for my life. With a whirl, she began unhooking the restraints that kept me pinned to the bed. I almost questioned it, but I figured baggers can't be choosers.

"I know you have a lot of question," she suddenly spoke as she fought a particularly difficult binding. "But as much as it pains me to agree with General Michael, I really think you should rest first. The ordeal you've been through is…"

Rest, now? You're kidding right? I finally had the answers to all the questions I had been asking for four years since I was thrown into this damn universe. I wasn't gonna rest.

Still, let's not take this too fast… "What's your name?" I figured this was an innocent enough question, plus I was getting sick of referring to her as 'Lieutenant'.

I was surprised when she flinched slightly, her eyes taking on an air of… sadness? Regret? Regardless, the look disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Alexandra. Just Alexandra."

"Alexandra," I repeated. "It's nice to meet you. My name's Ark, but I guess you already know that."

With a huff, she finally threw off the last of my bindings. "You have no intention of following my or the Generals advice, do you?"

I had the decency to feel a little bit of guilt before answering. "I will, rest assured. I feel like hell, but I need to know what's happening, why I'm in this…place."

"Fine, but this might take a while and you should take it easy." Turning, she grabbed one of the cheap hotel chairs and dragged it over.

"Okay, where are we?"

"That's classified." I winced. "Don't do that. If it was up to me, I would tell you everything. But I and even the General are bound by certain rules when interacting with…" she frowned. It was actually quiet endearing when she frowned, but that was beside the point.

"With…?" I prompted.

"With humans, I suppose. Not all humans, just ones who haven't reached certain… Sacraments." She seemed to struggle over the last part of the sentence, as if searching for the proper words. I was more focused on the first part of the sentence, however.

"So, you're an alien?"

She…face palmed. Seriously, she literally face palmed. "There are no such things as aliens, Ark."

Really, I beg to differ. I shoot two Asari last week and it was…Stopping that train of thought now.

"You just said you're not human, pretty sure that makes you an alien."

"What I am, what my kind is, would not fit your definition of alien as you understand it. Furthermore, the real world doesn't have an aliens, period. I honestly don't understand your people's obsession with aliens and the like; they don't serve any purpose to forwarding or declining your eventual…" She blinked once, and then frowned. "I'm soapboxing, am not I? Back to the topic at hand, an explanation of what I am is complicated and would take some time to explain."

'The real world doesn't have aliens'. That sentence had some trouble sitting with me. The thing was I had lived in the Mass Effect universe for several years now. And in this universe, there were definitely aliens. Not only were there aliens, but there were aliens that spoke and had feelings just like I did. I knew this because they had begged for their lives before I killed them.

What was the term? 'Reverse-Culture Shock' perhaps. I had spent so much time in this world, with aliens and spaceships that the normal world was starting to appear fictional. The problem was that I was… well, not fond, but accepting of my old life. I needed to make sure I wasn't getting too involved in this universe. The Mass Effect world IS FICTION. THAT IS A FACT. Right?

I didn't have time to wax philosophy on the nature of existence through. Alexandra was giving me an expecting look, so I quickly reviewed what she had said to me. "We have time, do tell."

"Do you really want to know?" I nodded. "Fine."

**Diaaaaaallloggguuueee**

**I wish I was better at writing it, because this whole chapter was basically dialogue. It was actually more fun to write than I expected. I figured it would be boring and simi-tedious, but no, it had a certain flow to it. So much in fact, this chapter might have hit 8,000 words if I didn't stop now. **

**But you fine folks don't care about that; you care about our new arrivals. Michael is back, in full uniform instead of undercover. That's nice and all, but the main attraction is this new girl, **Alexandra**. Not to spoil anything, but I'm going to try to make here a main character in this brave new world. **

**SERIOUS QUESTION TIME: In your honest opinion, ****how long should a chapter be?****I now long lines of text occasionally get boring and you blur through them, so at what point does that happen to you?**

**Q&amp;A:**

5 Coloured Walker**: Thanks for your review! I am…apprehensive about adding the crucible into my story. It was a big swing and a miss in my opinion and I would rather bioware not have let it exist. At the same time, it is really a big thing to change, almost too much to simply phase out. ****As for the suggested 'chapter 14.5' I understand. I felt my audience was getting tired of Ark getting the hell beat out of him in prison plot and wanted to move on to better things. Simply put, I didn't want to waste any more time in that (plot) ark, so I might have ended a tad fast. For the split personality, see **Guest(1).

Guest(1): **Thanks for your review! The split personality disorder will not be prominent. ****It's an overused cliché, especially in the SI business. I just wanted to show the audience that several years spent in the care of Dracul broke our hero, and the easiest way to do that was to show him literal not in control of his own body. ALSO, thanks for accepting the Vampire thing, I was worried people would hate it.**

Guest(2): **Thanks for honesty man. I'm really glad you left that comment, as it allows me to soapbox. I consider myself a reader first and a writer second. Thus, I now the pain of seeing a good story abandon for lengths of time (not to imply my story is good). IF THIS STORY WAS ABONDON, YOU WOULD KNOW. Short of my death, I would publish an official letter of apology if this story had to end. Until then, this thing will carry on.**

**Hey, if you want to give me some feedback, feel free!**

**See you Space Cowboy**


	17. Deprogramming: Who are You

_Deprogramming: Who are You_

_Location: Classified_

_Subject: Ark Thompson_

_Time: Unknown_

_Mental State: Initiating _

"We are at war, Ark. I know how cliché that sounds, but believe me, we are. I wouldn't be surprised if you have some trouble comprehending…" She paused, considering. "That's not the right word, perhaps quantifying is a better one. Considering you're upbringing, the word 'war' brings images of superpowers steamrolling lesser organizations in mere hours before years dealing with rebels. Your parents remember the days when two feral nations engaged in conflict by proxy and espionage, never firing directly for fear of massive retaliation."

I open my mouth to dispute that claim. I was a child of the 21st century after all; I had seen enough interpretation of war to understand what she was saying. My favorite movie was _The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly_ for god sake and there was a huge battle scene in that movie.

Upon further review, saying that my understanding of total warfare stemmed from media was not the best plan. I closed my month without comment.

"This is not the war you or your parents known, Ark. This is a conflict that has defined the very soul of my people since before time itself existence." Her eyes stared into mine earnestly. "This total, absolute war which goes on to this very hour, and it is all because of you."

Wait, what? "Mind running that one past me again?"

"It's nothing you did!" She waved her hands around, attempting to reassure me. "Just humanity in general is the cause; your very creation was the tipping point."

"I'm really having some trouble seeing how this relates to what your species is."

She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I am getting to that, but you need some background first. It's not an easy thing, to explain our species to a living, breathing hum… to you." Now that I had a chance to look at her, she didn't look to well. Red eyes, bags under the eyes, even her movements were sorta sluggish.

"When was the last time you slept?" The question just slipped out on its own accord, entirely without prompting. Apparently, I was eager to gain answers until a pretty girl suffered for it.

She stopped rubbing her eyes, shooting me a glance. "I don't need sleep." I couldn't help but raise an unbelieving eyebrow. "Fine, I haven't slept in a while, it's been busy around here. I was part of the mission to rescue you."

Huh, my respect for her rose by a good bit. She assaulted a heavily armed Cerberus base (technically, 30 Coins base, which is worse because its crewed by fanatics) which was led by the sadist Dracul, no less. I fleetingly wondered why she specifically was on the assault force, but dismissed it as her being under Michael's command. "I guess I owe you one." I said it with a smile, and genuinely meant it.

Alexandra just sighed, shaking her head slowly. "You don't owe us, and least of all me, anything. You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place." She paused, shooting me a sad smile. "But let's not focus on that, where was I?"

"It's my fault that there is a mutigenerational war occurring right now."

The sad smile turned into a glare. "First off, no it is not solely your fault. When your people came into existence, it surprised mine beyond words. You see, to say my race is ancient would be to do us a disservice. We remember the days before time itself came into existence." She shook her head, a faraway look in her eye. "You can't understand, you are a temporal being …or at least you used to be. Even such a rudimentary thing such as night and day had yet to exist. But the second your people came into existence, the first second ticked on the clock that has continued since."

Alright, so before time existed. Based on my knowledge of fiction, anything that suggests it existed since the beginning of time tends to be extremely powerful. I am not; therefore I need to tread very carefully. Better check the facts. "Okay, so your people (I need a name for her species) were treading around existence since before time. Eventually this changed when humans entered the scene. I'm guessing some faux pas occurred down the line and our two people are at war?"

She shook her head slowly, frowning at the implications of my statement. "No direct problem arose between our two people. The majority of humans who know of our existence are on very friendly terms, actually. The problem was that part of my people became…jealous."

I shoot her a questioning look. "Jealous?"

A very stiff nod greeted me. "Jealous. We are the first born of creation, beings of energy. For instance, I usually don't look like this; my natural form is more… ethereal." She poked her shoulder, trying to punctuate her point. "You humans, although you may not recognize it, are more than the sum of your parts. Take those parts away and you have…"

"What, you mean like souls?"

The blonde snapped her figures together excitedly. "Exactly! When my people learned of humans, beings so much like ours, all of us were shocked. We came to your plane and watched you, gawking even. It was then the schism occurred. Some of us, specifically my group, felt we had encountered a long lost brothers and sisters. By contrast, Dracul's band viewed usurpers."

I blinked, trying to think what humans could take from these people. They were obviously more advanced and stronger. It was like a 20 year old millionaire worrying that a three year old would steal his job, illogical.

"I don't understand." I confessed. "What was there to steal? At that point in time, humans were still running around with clubs for all I know. You couldn't have been afraid we could seriously harm you."

"I can't answer that for you, Ark." She gave me a sympathetic look. "Just remember this: the meek have and always will be viewed higher here." With that cryptic statement, she stood up, grabbing her coat and pushing the chair back to its place at the desk.

"Going somewhere?" I asked before struggling to a standing position. My vision faded in and out of focus as I had to fight of the incredibly strong urge to throw up. I promptly fall back on the bed.

"Yes, guarding you. That means you stay here, in the bed." She put emphasis on 'stay' and 'bed', as if I was some sort of disobedient child.

She couldn't contain me. "I'm fine!" Even to my ears it was more of a whine than an evaluation of my physical and mental stability. But I really didn't care. If had survived the brutal training that Dracul had thrown at me, I could get up and do…something.

"Like the general said, you'll need your rest for the upcoming trails. I will see you soon." And with those words of closing, she walked into the brilliantly bright hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

With my company gone and a mental stimulation gone, I felt the darkness creeping in on the edges of my vision. In days past, I would usually fight this sensation. Sleep only offered dark dreams and left me vulnerable to any horrors my captors would provide. But for once, I felt safe, warm even. And I let the darkness take me.

* * *

_"__You think you've escaped me, Child?"_

_A world of inky blackness stretched before me, leaving me deaf and dumb as I whirled around, trying to find that horrible voice. I couldn't tell if I was floating or the ground I stood on was as black as the sky around me, but I doubt it mattered. Fear clouded my senses, leaving me exposed and weak._

_"__You might have promising potential, but you are raw. Like a vine, you will wither and die."_

_I screamed to the sky, trying to end this creatures lies. Nothing came of the effort, of course. Not even the reassurance of existence that your own scream gave you when you hurt yourself. Because, when you scream, you know for one horrible moment that you are healthy enough to know that something is wrong. When you try to scream and feel nothing, you know you are damned._

_"__Come find me."_

* * *

With a sharp cry, my body was launched up from its formally peaceful slumber. Cold sweat caused my cloths to cling to me as I shook slightly, trying to remember the dream. It had seemed so important that I followed someone's instructions. But who's? And why?

I suppose it really didn't matter.

What mattered was the fact I had access to a working shower and clean clothes. I took full advantage of both of these, avoiding the mirror at all costs. It was just something I didn't want to deal with, I suppose. As long as I couldn't see myself, acknowledge the fact that I now had scars crisscrossing my skin and a slightly dead look in my eye, I was fine. I was just Ark Thompson, a high school senior with average prospects living an average life.

I was just…me.

"Wow, you're up." I jumped, turning quickly and bring my hands to a 'ready' position to face the individual who had snuck into my room without my knowledge. "Usually, you would sleep in till…"

It was just Lieutenant Alexandra, in all her uniformed glory. I suppose saying 'just' does her a disservice, because the very attracti… shutting up now.

"Ummm…hello?" I really wanted to ask if she had heard of the concept of knocking, but Dracul hadn't either, and she was much more pleasant company.

She looked up from her contemplative gaze at my bedside clock. "Good morning. Now that you have completely ruined my plans to allow you the proper amount of rest that your body needs, what do you propose we do to past the time?"

I blinked at her once, twice. She didn't sound particularly upset, but her words were rather…blunt. And what did she mean that I had to decide what to do? Wasn't I the captive? I suppose 'captive' is a bit strong of a word, but I knew that the second I tried to leave this room something horrible would likely happen to me.

Also, wasn't I supposed to be tied to the bed?

Embarrassingly enough, my stomach answered for me. A deep growl reverberated and I suddenly became aware of the feeling of a very empty stomach. I glared at my stomach accusingly, the traitor that it was.

"I suppose some breakfast is in order. I think you have…" She reached down, opening a cabinet to revel a mini-fridge that looked well stocked. "…here we are."

My hands were quickly filled with random articles of food, mostly cereal. I sat down and munched happily, blissful.

My partner was much less idyllic. Standing off to the side, she seemed slightly unsure what the proper course of action was, rapidly glancing between the chair and door as if she wasn't sure if she was okay to watch me eat.

I kicked a chair opposite me, pushing it out and hoping she would take the hint. She did, a bit hesitantly, and I took the opportunity to toss a cartoon of cereal her way. I think it was my elementary school teacher who had lectured for an hour that eating in the presence of others without offering them food was considered an ultimate taboo. Oddly enough, that had stuck into my teen years, but not my optimism, sadly.

"Thank you, I'm not hungry." I paused the stuffing of my face, before looking up and swallowing. "Did you eat already?"

She glanced away uncomfortably. "I really…don't need to eat. At all."

I paused, trying to think of an appropriate response. "Sounds…useful." I glanced at the food. "You can still eat it if you want. I haven't had a meal with another person in a… well, a long time."

A heavy silence dropped upon the table after that particular revelation. Embarrassed at the fact I had destroyed the mood, I retreated back to the corn flakes that started this whole mess. I swore that her eyes were drilling holes in my head the entire time.

The sound of crinkling plastic, followed by a light crunching brought a smile to my lips. Risking a quick glance up, I was rewarded with the sight of the Lieutenant cheerfully eating dry cereal.

For some reason, this made me ridiculously happy. I guess it was the little things in life.

* * *

_Subject: Ark Thompson_

_Time: 3 hours later_

The blindfold was extremely irritating. It caused the sweat pooling on my brow to accumulate around my eyes. The salty substance burned, which caused tears, which accumulated, which burned. It was a vicious self-repeating cycle that was not in the least enjoyable.

The alternative however, was far worse. "So, explain to me why you guys have a hallway composed of pure light?"

The Lieutenants voice answer from somewhere to the left of me. "To my eyes, this hallway is no brighter than that of a sunny day. Take a left here."

Following her instructions, I frowned at Alexandra's statement. "So do you have some sort of tolerance for bright lights? How does that work?"

"My people are ethereal beings, existing before light was a concept. The fact I'm in a shell does not diminish the fact that light itself is younger than me, and thus cannot influence me. One day, you might be able to look at me as I really am, but currently? Your mind is just…not ready."

Yet another answer which just raised more questions, I mused. Not for the first time, I could help but think I was a bit far out of my league. I should be in this situation; I lacked the skills and the knowledge to function.

"_Did. You did lack the skill. Dracul has taken care of that."_ The voice slithered in my head unexpectedly, uninvited. I stumbled slightly, only for a warm hand to pull me back up.

"Be careful." With her hand now firmly on my arm, she guided me across a threshold before the light began to fade. "We're here."

"One thing…" I couldn't help but voice as I struggled to untie my blindfold. "Why didn't Dracul show me his 'true form'? He certainly showed me…other things." How to kill men, for example. How to kill men without weapons, without harming them in the least. Physically, anyway.

"That," a deep baritone reverberated from in front of me answered. "is what we are trying to find out."

Finally free of my bonding, I look upon the owner of the voice. A man in his twenties greeted me. He wore the clothing of a priest and had long dark hair that matched his eyes. He seemed to be smiling at me in a friendly manner, but there was something off about him. I suppose it was the eyes.

Eyes, at it has been said, is the window to the soul. Yet his eyes seemed to be more like black holes that would swallow those who looked into them. Despite the entirety of his appearance seemed to suggest he was harmless and friendly, it felt manufactured.

"Greetings, Ark Thompson." He stood up from the simple metal table he had been sitting at, stalking toward towards me. Literally, stalked, like I was some sort of pray. Danger flags went off in my head and I could help but shift my footing slightly, a precautionary measure in case…

"I…uh…hello, Father?" I threw out the proper way to greet a priest, even though he really didn't seem like one.

He smiled and threw back his head in response, emitting a loud cackle. It would have reminded me of Dracul's, but it lack the malice.

"This," I took all my concentration not to jump as the Lieutenant whispered into my ear. It caused a…various amount of emotional responses. "is Chief Warrant Officer Marshall. He is going to ask you some questions. My advice? Answer them honestly, we can tell when you're lying."

She leaned away, glaring at the laughing Marshall before glancing up at me. "I will be close by. Take heart." Then she turned and marched through the door.

When I finally blinked sight back into my eyes, I was face to face with the Warrant Officer. His face had become contemplative and I had to force myself not to step away.

"It's been a long time since anyone has mistaken me for a priest, little one." A grim smile slide into his features. "Although I would claim that I am far more knowledgeable about their trade then they are. Please, sit."

Following his instructions (and attempting to keep him from entering my blind spot), I maneuvered into the cold metal chair under a single bright bulb. If I was feeling a little more pensive, I would have noticed how similar this room was to the chamber the 40 coins had brought me to during my initial…interrogation.

But I didn't let that thought slip into my head in the least. Not. At. All.

"Please identify yourself."

Ahh, so this was being recorded? "Ark Thompson."

"How old are you, Mr. Thompson?"

"I don't know." My month had gone spectacularly dry in a very short period of time.

The Warrant Officer leaned forward, casting his face in shadow. "You don't know? Explain this to me."

"My body is…" I swallowed nosily. "biologically around 16 now. My mind though is, um, older."

"About 7 years older, by my calculations. You were 18 when you were deployed, which was around 5 years ago. I believe in your country you are of legal drinking age now. Congratulations." His tone was flat and honest, which didn't help my emotional state in the least.

"Five years," If I could, I would have whistled. "That's a long…long time."

"You'll find that time is not as impressive as you think when working with us, Mr. Thompson. Now, can you tell me what species you are?"

Was he doing this on purpose? Asking me questions that were so simple yet so impossible to answer that they kept me up at night. It felt like he was dragging a dagger across my skin and gleefully watching as the blood gushed out. Trust me; I knew exactly what that felt like.

"I don't know, sir." I felt a tendril of impatience slink through my sub-consciousness, which I crushed brutally. I allowed my sight to wander the room, trying to take my mind of the question he had asked.

"You're not human, not entirely, anyway. But are you sure Dracul didn't tell you anything?" At the sight of HIS name, my eyes involuntarily snapped back to him. His own bore into mine, searching, predatory in nature.

I don't really think I like this guy.

"Nothing, nothing at all." It wasn't a lie, not totally. Dracul had not said what I was, just that I was 'greater' than others. That I was different. That I was…like him. It had made my skin crawl at the time, but it was nothing but the drabbles of a madman who had seen me as a tool and nothing more.

"Good," he nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "We are going to do some word association, just to test your cognitive functions. For instance, I say day…"

"I would say 'night'." I answer cautiously. I quick nod latter, we began.

"Car?"

"Driven."

"Food?"

"Consumed."

"Mother?"

I scoffed. "Father."

"Meetra?"

I paused slightly, before giving an unsteady reply. "Friend?"

That one resulted in the Warrant Officer scribbling in his notebook for several seconds, which caused my anxiety to increase. We continued this question and answer for several minutes, which eventually caused me to fall into something of a light daze.

Which was a mistake.

"Dracul?"

"Maste…" My month slammed down on the inside of my check so hard I tasted blood. Swallowing thickly, I glance futilely at test giver, hoping beseeching that I had misheard him.

Two empty eyes stared back. "Dracul."

I didn't know what to say. Honestly, what the hell was I supposed to say? It was not… ugh what the hell man. I don't know what I was supposed to…

"_Just lie._" Ohh that little snake of a voice was back. I even dignified it with a response, bring the memory of Alexandra just seconds ago reminding me to be honest. It helped a little, but my heart rate was still sky rocketing and my hands wouldn't stop shaking until I clutched the chair in a vice grip.

With strength I didn't know I possessed, I spit out. "I…Don't…Know."

"I need an answer, Mr. Thompson. You're not leaving this room until I get one."

Ignoring him, I retreated back into the depths of my mind, trying to reorganize my thoughts into some sort of order. Why were they doing this? What did he want? I didn't earn this. Wasn't I a good person? My mother had always said I was a good person, how could this…

"Just one word, Mr. Thompson." Those black holes cut into my thoughts, freezing me. "Dracul?"

"_Assuming Contro…"_

"No!" I'm not quite sure what happened, but the chair I was sitting in went flying backwards, scattering as it hit the wall. I was on my feet, hands clutching on the table as if to flip it over in a rage.

The Warrant Officer just sat, glaring at me with a blank, almost board expression.

"There, 'no'. That wasn't so hard was it? I've heard far worse responses in my day." He scribbled something on the margins of his paper. "Normally, I would take a break about now, but the upper echelons are in something of a hurry for this report. There should be another seat over there."

Blinking slowly, I sank into the chair that I was sure wasn't in the room when I entered. That was… harrowing.

"If it makes you feel any better, you have improved significantly from your base test."

Turning and refocusing on the speaker, I raised my eyebrow questioningly. More to wash away the anguish of the last seconds than actually receive any information, I squeaked out. "Base Test…?"

"Oh yes," he smiled up at me ruefully. "This is the second time you've taken this test. The first time was after your physical recalibration, but before you're very extensive mental rehabilitation."

I couldn't help but blink rapidly, trying to quantify what this man was saying. He was spitting out words, but they weren't forming sentences in my head. The dark haired observer droned on. "Dracul's attack on your mind was a relic from a far older era. Nobody on either side of the war would bother to try it in these times; loyalties are set in stone now. But in the past, when the revolutions were in the earliest stages…"

He trailed off, stopping his sorting of his papers before staring at me. "As you probably guessed by now, Dracul didn't want to kill you. He wants to own you, control you. Although we haven't revealed it to you, you possess an amount of power… well, that's not for a mortal like yourself to know."

"Anyway," he picked up a flashcard, covered with ink blotches. "what does this look like?"

* * *

"You can take off the blindfold now."

"Thank you." I pulled the blindfold off for the second time today, throwing it on a chair haphazardly.

I took a deep breath, studying my surroundings carefully. It appeared to be the same hotel room I had woken up in this morning, with its cheap furniture and absolutely tasteless paintings. I asked the Lieutenant to verify the fact.

"Yes?" She answered questioningly, no doubt wondering why I would ask such an odd inquiry.

"Thank you, Alexandra." I gave her the biggest smile I could manage, which only seemed to increase her concern. "Would you excuse me for a second?"

With as much grace as I could muster, I turned and ambled past the Lieutenant with an easy stride. As soon as I had passed her side, however, I broke into a run and barreled through the door to the bathroom.

Personally, I've never been drunk enough to necessitate vomiting. But, I have seen enough movies to know I looked exactly like I had been slumming it up at my local bar.

'_Oh,'_ I couldn't help but think. '_That's what half-digested Frosted Flakes looks like.'_ Then I threw up again.

Weakly, I reached up and flushed the putrid stew down the toilet. This did defiantly not rank in my top ten noblest moments in this universe, unsurprisingly. Defeated, my neck muscles relaxed and I lowered my head to the cool porcelain, hoping it would fight off my growing headache.

"So, mind explaining why you vomited up blood?"

The sigh that came out of my mouth was rather pathetic, I must admit. "It wasn't that much blood."

"You're dodging the question." She growled at me.

"It's really not a big deal, Alexandra." I held out for mere seconds against the nuclear grade glare baking the back of my head before I gave in. "I bit my check during the word association test, and then I bit my tongue during the ink blot text. I thought spiting up blood during a psychological test might be…problematic."

A silence fell over the bathroom, which I welcomed wholeheartedly. It wasn't that I disliked talking to the very lovely Lieutenant, but talking with the remains of acidic vomit scorching my throat was not high on my priority list. I could fix that though…

Pushing myself up, I had to fight a wave of dizziness as the blood rushed from my head. God, this sucks.

"I wish I could say that was unexpected." I turned around, grinning when the Lieutenant offered me a glass of water. "But I was there when your original tests were done. They were unpleasant."

I swirled the water in my month, rinsing away the taste before spiting. "Unpleasant how?"

"I do not wish to speak of such things." The passion in her tone surprised me, wrenching my focus away from my own musings to her.

Something had changed when I looked at her. He eyes seem to glow more brightly than ever before and her hand circled a hostler, the contents of which she had never revealed to me. But both of those where secondary concerns to what else was happening.

She was pulsating. Literally radiating some sort of…energy? Aura? I felt it crash on my skin in waves, constant and unyielding. It was warm and welcoming but… I felt some sort of pressure as well. It was like a food that had the most wonderful taste but the texture was undesirable.

It was then the traitorous part of mind began to point out how bad a position I was in. Despite several days of evidence to the contrary, it pointed out how screwed I was if Alexandra decided to attack me. If she was attacking, I was stuck on the wrong side of a doorway inside a (enemy, the traitor said) unknown base. She was armed with a weapon I knew nothing about with an unknown skill-set.

I took a step back in fear.

The movement caused her head to snap towards me, pining me under the now iris-less eyes made of pure light. For a moment I felt that she might smite me from this Earth.

Then a slow, sad smile fell over those features. "Forgive me. The memory of you in those days pains me. We were forced to manipulate your mind, clouding some memories and enhancing others to return your personality to the one it once was."

With a snap of the figures, the light disappeared and her eyes returned to their usual brown. I couldn't help but release the breath I had been unaware I had been holding.

"It is late. Rest now, Ark, for tomorrow brings its own set of challenges."

And just like that, she was gone.

* * *

**Hmmmmmm….**

**Honestly can't say how this chapter turned out. Dialogue heavy, backstory based is a dangerous combination. I hope the hints and information dropped was satisfactory to explain some of the backstory of this conflict that Ark has been drawn into.**

**As always, if you have any thoughts or questions, don't hesitate to speak up. This story is yours to, in a way, so help me mold it into something great.**

**Question time:**

Sabba: **Thanks for the Review!** **Oh, your mind went to rival when Alexandra was introduced. Interesting angle. On the subject of the prologue, we WILL reach it. I've calculated that this story has three 'arcs': the Operation arc, Deprogramming arc, and the Contract arc. (possibility of a 'Legends' arc as well) before we reach the prologue. And there will be overreaction, trust me.**

5 Coloured Walker: **Thanks for the Review. I hope the explanations hold to your expectations.**

**As always, feedback is appreciated and exalted!**

**See you soon, Space Cowboy **


	18. Deprogramming: What do you Want

_Deprogramming: What do You Want_

_Location: Classified_

_Subject: Ark Thompson_

_Time: Unknown_

_Mental State: Introspective_

"Sorry if this comes off as rather rude, but why the HELL didn't you mention this earlier?!"

The pretty blonde looked up at me, frowning slightly. "Two reasons. First, I was under orders to not inform you of the proceedings. Secondly, and on a more…personal note, I was concerned that you would have attempted to doctor yourself instead of acting honestly."

"Exactly," I whisper shouted, waving my hands exasperatedly. "I would have 'doctored' my behavior to get better test results."

Sighing exasperatedly, she reached over, adjusting the collar on my dress uniform. "I think you should have known by now, my people would know. We tend to pride ourselves in knowing the darkness of men's hearts."

"So let me get this straight," I fiddled with the cuffs on my coat. "you lied to me. All those little test where not just for my mental wellbeing, but evidence collection. I'm going to court"

"Technically, it's a military tribunal. The general and I tried to get it listed as a court-martial but the prosecution had a very strong argument."

I chuckled mirthlessly. "What argument was that? The 'Ark Thompson might try to bit off someone's ear', argument?"

"No, the 'Dracul' argument." I saw her brown eyes narrow slightly as I twitched at the mention of 'his' name. I looked away quickly in an attempt to avoid her scrutiny.

"I, uh, didn't know he was so…infamous."

"Dracul is something of an enigma. He was one of the 30 Coin's top operators for a long time, a thorn in the side of a number of our operations. Then, suddenly, he was gone. Not dead or defeated, just gone. Intel reported that he had done something that got him on the wrong side of the Coin's leadership, something big. We never could figure out exactly what it was, however."

She gestured at me. "Then he shows up again, after a very long time. Not only does he show up, but he shows up in the middle of an operation that is not only top secret, but does not have any conceivable military value. Anything related to Dracul is now high priority."

"And I have a lot to do with Dracul."

She smiled grimly. "Unfortunately, that is true."

"Although I don't really appreciate you lying to me-"

She interrupted. "I didn't lie, you just never asked."

"Regardless," I raised my eyebrow disbelievingly. "I understand why you did it. So thanks, I guess."

"'Thanks?' That's all I get?" She teased. "I've been your rescuer, guard, legal defense, and now your tailor. For that, I should get a raise, if not a promotion."

"If it was within my power, _Lieutenant_." I made sure to enunciate her rank. "I would give you a raise, but as it stands, I don't think I have that authority." I blinked. "Tailor?"

"What?" She blinked innocently. "You think perfectly good military uniforms just drop out of the sky? I had to put in a good deal of leg work to get that for you. The results were…more than exemplary."

I was inclined to agree. I had joined, as I jokingly called them, the Trench coat Brigade. Like the lieutenant and Michael, I was dressed up in a very immaculate blue military long coat with its matching pants. The black combat boots and peaked hat rounded out the uniform, making it look like I almost belonged among my saviors. Almost being a key word.

Even though I thought they looked 'exemplary', I was still a little hesitant about wearing the uniform for two reasons. Firstly, and most basely, it was damn hot. I had three layers of clothing on, minus the optional gloves and even heavier coat, and I was beginning to feel just a little uncomfortable. Secondly, and more importantly, I felt that wear the uniform of the Army was just asking for trouble.

I wasn't stupid. I knew that 'military tribunal' meant that I was viewed as an enemy combatant instead of an allied one. That one fact alone made sure whatever party that was deciding my fate was already not that big a fan of me, if not actively hostile.

"It's not your concern, Ark." I mumbled under my breath, imitating the words Michael had said to me the day before. "We will handle your defense, just be ready to take the stand tomorrow."

"What was that?" The Lieutenant asked, turning away from fiddling with a stack of papers.

"Nothing." I lied. Honestly, I was getting a bit…queasy. If I was back in my old life, I could break down and simply say I was panicky or perhaps terrified. But Dracul beat such novice emotion out of me and it was one of the few lessons of his I took whole-heartedly.

Fear was useless. Fear makes you slow, fear makes you stupid. It didn't help anyone or anything. Anxiety on the other hand was like a blade. If you could sharpen it to a fine edge, it would serve you well. It would keep you alert, keep you on mission and keep your priorities straight.

For example, I was anxious that I was about to be put on trial. I was anxious that I had no clue as to the operating's of these peoples legal systems and what punishments could await me if I was indicted. I was anxious that all the fighting I had suffered through would turn to ash in my hands and leave me with nothing.

"Ark, do you trust me?" The voice to my left shattered my thoughts, crushing me down to the present. I felt my clenched fists and glaring eyes, before forcing myself to relax back to normalcy. I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding.

Gripping my hat, I twirled around my figures distractedly. It was odd that out of all the questions the Lieutenant could have asked, she choose that one. Odd.

"Yes."

"Ark, look at me." Raising an eyebrow curiously, I complied with her request. "I am not asking if you trust Michael or the Organization. I am asking if you trust _me_. Just me and me alone."

Stalling mentally, I stuttered out the first response that came to my mind. "Why do you ask?"

Oddly enough, her eyes slide past mine for the briefest of seconds, scanning the door behind me as if she suspected someone might be listening in. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. "I wish I could claim your situation is the only unique one in this trial, but that would be false. I just…" She paused, searching for words. "I need to know."

I blinked once, then twice. What was she talking about? "You haven't given me a reason not to."

I back pedaled quickly as I saw a pout form on her lips and her eyes glow softly. "Hey, hey calm down. What I mean to say is yes, I trust you." I frowned. "Not sure why it matters so much."

"It matters to me. Now come, its show time."

* * *

The sight that greeted me increased my anxiety threefold.

"These people obviously never watched Judge Judy." I couldn't help but mutter to myself. What I had expected was your classic courtroom set up. Dark stained wood and a clearly marked defendants and prosecutors chair facing a judge's stand.

What I received instead was a stainless steel room, bare of everything but a single table and chair. Floodlights ensured that no shadow could survive, even if one purposely sought to create one. All and all, it was extremely foreboding.

"Okay, this is what is going to happen. Even though you can't see them, there are three chambers hidden behind the far wall." Alexandra gestured tightly as she spoke. "As you can see, each is covered with a one way mirror. The far left will hold the prosecution, headed by General Samiel."

"Is that a good thing?" I asked hopeful, focusing on the far left side of the room.

"The far right is where I, and General Michael and Warrant Officer Marshal, will be stationed." She continued on, ignoring my question entirely. "I managed to convince the General that we should remove the tainting, so you can see us. Just…try not to make it look like we doctored your answers. This is one of those cases were your knowledge of media will work against you, Ark. All of us can sense if you're lying and about what, so answer any questions honestly and fully."

"And the third chamber?"

Looking up at me, the girl stared at me intently. "That is where the judge's will be. They won't speak until the verdict is delivered and will silently guide the proceedings. You won't see them, but take heart. The judges are…fond of you."

I merely raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Fond? You've been using that phrase a lot…"

A pleasant chime, similar to the tone you hear from church bells, reverberated through the room and stopped my musing. I instinctively knew what it was, causing me to twitch slightly. It was my call to judgement.

Nodding to the Lieutenant, I walked to the table wearily. I considered puffing out my chest and squaring my shoulders to appear confident, but decided against it. A show of bravado was more likely to hurt me than help me. Plus, I didn't have the energy to manufacture myself anymore, nor a desire to.

I just wanted to be judged and sent on my way, no more, no less. So, when I sat in the uncomfortable metal chair, I hardly felt it. When the cuffs on my hands melted into the desk, connecting me to it, I watched with a feeling of disconnected fascination rather than any personal emotional investment. Then I stared at the table, waiting.

"Alright," General Michaels voice echo through the chamber, bringing me back to the present. "let's bring this court to order. Your name is Ark Thompson and some time ago you pledged your services to this organization, at my suggestion. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir." I answered softly, but the words seemed to echo around the room.

"As you were inducted into our service during a time of war," An unknown voice, likely my opposition, continued. "Military doctrine demands your trial be held as a military tribunal-"

"Despite the fact he was never part of an armed force or on a military mission." Michael chimed in.

"which means, as is customary in our system, the matter is to be pleaded here, to the judges." General Samiel voice cut, giving me the distinct impression he was studying me from the other side of the glass. "Do you understand, Mr. Thompson?"

"Absolutely."

"Foreseeably." The prosecuting general said. "The unique circumstances of your mission and the amount of popularity you gained make simply ignoring the matter an impossible suggestion. We need to decide, here and now, how to deal with your…capture."

Popularity? What the hell did that mean? My time in the MEU and in Dracul's care hadn't been some sort of soap opera broadcast for the world to see.

Continuing the back and forth tirade, Michael stepped in. "My friend, what we are saying is that there are two possible routes." I sensed my defense attorney gather his thoughts, before he spoke in an uncharacteristically low voice. "General Samiel and I will both present our plans for your future, after which the judges will decide upon which is the best course of action."

Forcing my eyes up from the table, I observed the far wall. True to Alexandra's words, on the right side of the far wall was a clear glass viewing box. Standing behind a wooden podium was the General, who appeared to be looking at several documents as he spoke. Besides him, and seemingly exuding darkness, the warrant officer stood. He looked all the world like he was watching a boring educational video, eyes dull and unfocused.

Alexandra was glaring a hole in the side of my head, her brown eyes focused and sharp. For a second, I felt I had insulted her in some way. But, her eyes didn't hold any malice, just focus. It was as if her very existence rode on the results of my test here.

That wasn't to imply that her view was selfish or motivated by fear. If anything, it felt like she was desperately wishing for me to understand the weight of the situation. Like a teacher reprimanding a student for using a raciest slang, she wanted me to understand I was doing something infinitely greater than I thought.

My eyes were wrenched back to Michael when he spoke. "Samiel's side will present first."

After a moment of heavy silence, the sound of a sigh came over the speaker.

"Remove the tainting." Several muffled voices, too far from the mike for me to hear clearly, responded back in questioning tones. "Because I ordered you to that's why!"

With a faint humming noise, the formally gray wall on the left turned into an identical glass viewing box. Of the three occupants, two of them stared at me with a look of raw fascination. I didn't pay them much heed, however. My mind was on the third one.

If I had to use a word to describe him, it would be Prussian. He looked like a man who had fought in the trenches for years, only to return with a few medals and a cynical disposition. The mustache and intense glare made me weary, but I suppose I would be an idiot not to be. He was the opposing view, after all.

"Son," I shift uncomfortably at his casual reference to me. "do you know why I removed the tainting?"

"No, sir."

"It's because I'm not a monster. In an odd, twisted way, you are something akin to my brother, abet a prodigal one. I am not doing this to punish you or dismantle you, but because me, and several of my fellow generals, believe this is the best course of action for your future."

He pauses briefly before continuing. "Our recommendation, following our careful examination of your psychology and physiology, is your total removal from history immediately. All records, memories, and effects of your existence will be removed from the real world. As a consolation, you will be returned to the real world in similar circumstances as your old life. Without memories, of course."

I felt my mouth drop slightly as I realized what he was saying. Basically, Ark Thompson will die. Technically, I'll be more than dead, erased really. Only to be reborn as Joe Smith in some similar circumstances.

"We choose to do this," he continued. "because at present your soul has no chance of redemption. I don't mean this as a slight, but Dracul turned much more powerful creatures in his time than you. If we do this, you might have a chance."

The Prussian stared into my eyes unyieldingly. "As for this 'MEU', it will be destroyed. All the effort put into it will be removed simultaneously in the hopes Dracul will be caught in the collapse. In the minds of me and my colleagues, this whole project has been nothing but a disaster from start to finish."

"Objection!" General Michael interjected. "This project has been ordered by the highest of authority!"

"This project died when the subject of it was captured three years ago! The current situation is nothing even vaguely similar to the original order. Any buffoon who saw the contents of his case can see that." Throwing his hands up, the prosecuting general glared at the wall, as if he could see his opposition. "I'd like to hear a proposal that salvages it, but it doesn't exist!"

"That is where you are wrong, Samiel. If you are done with your proposal, let me explain it to you."

Said general snorts indignantly. "Be my guest."

"Thank you." Looking up boldly, the general spoke. "As a member of the defense, I, General Michael, offer the following. Induct Ark Thompson fully into our ranks. Reenlist him and give him a special assignment as a Warrant Officer. Using both his unique experience and under the direct guidance of our agents, send him back into the MEU to fulfill his old mission and destroy the traitor Dracul."

Despite myself, I smiled. I realized that might be an odd reaction, but it wasn't to me. What General Michael just did was, when you stripped away all the military and political maneuvering, stating he still had faith in me. Even though I had collaborated with a mad man, he still thought there was hope for me.

General Samiel didn't see it the same way I did. "Is that all? Perhaps we should give him the keys to Eden? Let him parade around the Ark of the Covenant too? I knew you don't believe he is corrupted, but I am unwilling to take that chance!"

"Well then, let's prove it to you." Michael stared down at me earnestly. "Ark Thompson, have you willing collaborated with Dracul or any other members of the 30 Coins?"

"No, absolutely not sir."

"Really?" The prosecutor jumped in, interrupting Michael's next question. "Then why did you attempt to kill Warrant Officer Marshal during your initial psychological exam which, oddly enough, you failed."

That destroyed the happy feeling in my chest quiet quickly. I glanced nervously up at the defendant box, watching Marshal. He looked like he had rejoined the land of the living, glancing around curiously at the mention of his name. Alexandra glared at him, likely miffed he wasn't taking the proceedings as seriously as she was.

Marshal spoke into the microphone, absentmindedly pushing his superior out of the way. "If you are implying that the little one is capable of injuring me, you overestimate him." Despite the fact that he was speaking at a trial, he still retained his bored tone.

"Why are any of us worried, for that matter?" He continued. "He is a human, even if his brain is confused as to such a _base_ fact, an alive one at that. Thus he cannot match any of us in armament or skill."

I think I've just been insulted in an attempt to defend my innocence. That's confusing. As I tried to determine wither to be thankful or insulted, the debate above me raged on.

"Warrant Officer Marshal, I don't remember you being invited to the stand." The Prussian said coolly. "And you should do well to recall that a single human's have done incalculable damage to this organization in the past. But I suppose the Warrant Officers have the luxury of not worrying about that particular problem…"

Interesting, the last statement actually caused a reaction from Marshal. The dull look in his eyes disappeared, a glinting danger replacing them. Without a word, he turned and marched out of the room, the folds of his priest uniform promising damnation instead of redemption.

Both I and the Lieutenant looked on in confusion as one part of my legal defense disappeared into the depths of the complex, leaving me out to dry. General Michael stepped right up to the podium as if he never left, adjusting his hat back into place and seemingly forgetting about the whole incident.

"Back to the matter at hand, you tried to kill one of the organization. You willing learned to manipulate the soul for a dark entity. You abandon your mission and thus abandon us." He sighed. "Judges, I really don't see what more information need to be shared. Let us wash our hands of this and return to conventional military matters."

"Just to clarify for the record, Samiel." My defense jumped in. "You believe that Mr. Thompson has no control over his tainted soul and should be removed for it. I, on the other hand, believe he can control the evil Dracul put him through and remain a valuable part of this group."

The mustached man frowned. "Don't make it sound so simple, General Michael. There is more at stake than that. Also, as I said at the start of this trial, erasing Thompson from history gives him the greatest chance to walk away with his soul intact." He looked down at me, raising an eyebrow slightly. "But I suppose you are correct."

"Then allow me to convince you of your mistake, General!" Turing to face the shouting voice behind me, I just had enough time to gasp before receiving a spinning kick to the face.

As the booted heel grinded into my face, I took note of what appeared to be one of my molars flying past my eyes in slow motion. Predictably, my head smashed into the stainless steel table, causing the world to spin as blood oozed from my mouth.

_Initiate Control: Yes/__No__?_

Spiting blood, I lifted my head up just in time to have my seat kicked out from under me. Predictably, this resulted in me head-butting the table. Grinding my teeth painful, I tried to bring my legs under me and roll, but received an excruciating kick just below the ribs, leaving me gasping for breath.

"Not dangerous at all, are you?" The voice resounded above me. "You're just a puppet who's had your strings cut." He punctuated this by slamming a boot into my knee once, then twice. If I had my breath back, I would have screamed. As it happens, I just moaned pitifully.

_Initiate Control: Yes/__No__?_

Distantly, I heard someone shouting over the intercom. It was all a blotted out due to the roar of my heartbeat in my ears, the constant pain. Struggling, I twisted my body so that I might face my attacker.

Dead eyes stared back at my watering ones. Somehow, it didn't surprise me that Marshal was the one standing in front of me, observing my pain. That's what a good priest does, right? Sit in a booth and listen as a subject bares all his aliments to him. How long could someone do that and still feel empathy?

The eyes didn't change when he delivered a right cross to my face. A crunching sound issued from my nose and I decided that breathing through my mouth, even though I was missing a left molar might be the best option for me right now.

"Listen to me, _General_." The fake priest said mockingly. "You may be right. Us Warrant Officer's might not have the great and saintly job of protecting the soul. But we do have a job, one that we are all very good at."

Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my beaten face up. "Look upon my work and feel reassured. No matter how sure you are of the boy's corruption, know I will always defeat him."

"Warrant Officer, stand down! What you're doing is extremely dangerous!" A new voice chimed in from the prosecution box. It appeared one of the aids was a bit nervous.

_Initiate Control: Yes/__No__?_

"Don't be silly." He punctuated his reply with a casual kick to my arm. "We both know you have counter measures besides me that could put him out of commission. Otherwise, how would you be able to wipe his soul? He certainly wouldn't allow that to happen willingly."

Before the prosecution could respond, church bells tolled. As quickly as he had come, the Warrant Officer turned and strolled out of room without a word. His boot clicked loudly as he walked, leaving a small trail of blood behind him.

"It appears the judges have made a decision." Michael spoke. "Would you like to read the terms or should I?"

My opposition snorted indignantly, glaring at the wall that separated the two viewing boxes. "Bask in your victory, General. Just remember my words here if something goes wrong. I expect a copy of your mission reports, so I may see for myself if it was worth the gamble." He gestured to his aids before leaving in a wake.

"For the sanctity of the record, the terms are as follows." Siting up, I forced my throbbing face towards the defense's box, I needed to hear this. "'Ark Thompson shall be returned to MEU to continue his original mission with several additional requirements. The corrupted knowledge shown to him by the enemy will be contained and focused to create a counter to its very creator. To achieve this task, and to ensure the continued faith of the people, the new Warrant Officer will be subject to weekly psychological and transcendent tests in the hopes of his expedient recovery.'"

The General paused slightly before continuing. "'In the event of mission failure, the MEU shall be exterminated to the very lowest level. Thompson's soul would be laved seven times and returned to Earth for a last attempt.' And with that, this trial is dismissed."

With a lazy smile on my face, I let my head fall back down to the cool floor with a thunk. It was in that undignified sprawl, arms handcuffed above me and legs tucked up pathetically, Michael found me.

His broad shoulders shadowed the light from above me as he looked down. "My friend, you look very pained for someone who just won a court case."

"Asshole." I muttered to myself, closing my eyes tiredly.

He chuckled lightly before finishing a set of keys out of his pockets. With a clack, my now free arms fell at my sides, feeling numb.

"I'm sorry for the theatrics, Ark." Gloved hands gently pulled me up to a seating positon. "But you understand why we had to put on the show for the prosecution?"

I shook my head slowly. "Actually, I really don't." I forced my swollen eyes up, before gesturing at my nose. "Would you mind…?"

"Not at all." Turning my head slightly, Michael reached forward and gripped my nose. With a rather large crack and no small amount of pain, he reset it. I took a deep breath through the newly reattached appendage.

"You don't resent me now, little one?" A new voice sounded to my right. Glaring up, I could tell it was Marshal, who appeared to be sporting a new pair of (blood free) boots.

"I think you might have enjoyed using my face as a punch bag a little too much." I took a deep breath before continuing. "But if General Michael says he had a reason, I'll trust him."

"I think I should gut you were you stand, Warrant Officer." A distinctly feminine voice, cool as ice and just as dangerous, chimed. "Step away from him, _now_."

"Now, now Lieutenant. We both know that this was for the bes…"

As smooth scraping sound resounded, echoing throughout the chamber. It was a tune all those who watched medieval movies were intimately familiar with. It was the sound of a sword being pulled from it scabbard.

"I really don't care what you 'think'. Get out of my sight and stay away from him, or _I'll_ show you what job _I'm_ good at."

Marshal just sighed above me, returning his empty eyes to me. "We shall talk latter, Mr. Thompson." Then, he grinned. "Do try to take better care of yourself."

I smoothed a spike of anger at the comment, electing to try to and fix my failing eyesight. Blinking rapidly only resulted in the acknowledgement of pain that I was trying to suppress. Both the General and the Warrant Officer took the opportunity to leave me lying on the ground, bleeding.

Taking the initiative, I figured I might as well us this opportunity to stand up instead of allowing people to hover over me. Predictably, my left knee didn't seem to respond, leaving me to lean awkwardly on the table I had been sitting at moments ago. Still, it gave me my dignity.

"Ark? Ark, look at me."

"Oh, hiya Alexandra." I said rather noncommittally. "I think my eye is swelling shut, so I can't really do that right now."

"I can fix that." I noted that her voice was not the same kind tone that it usually was. It was still hers, but controlled and focused, tight in a way. "Cuius Livore Sanati Estis."

Due to the fact my vision was obscure by swollen flesh and my overactive tear ducts, I didn't notice her eyes glow slightly as she stood in front of me. Reaching up, she held an open palm above my face, running it over the injured areas as she muttered before me in an unknown language.

However, even though I couldn't see, I could feel. A cool feeling settled unto my face, slowly soothing and restoration my ills. Damaged tissue healed at an incredible rate, leaving only a feeling of euphoria in place of burning pain. My eye sight became clearer and clearer as the swelling returned to the tan, unblemished skin it once was.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I noted the even my tooth was back.

"Whoa." I hazarded a hand over the side of my face, stunned at the display of power. "Ummm, thanks."

"Your welcome." Lowering her hand slightly, she flashed a small smile at me. It caused my heart to squirm uncomfortably in my chest. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to talk to the General."

Although the smile remained plastered on the Lieutenant's face, her eyes narrowed slightly. I had no doubt that the 'conversation' about to be initiated was anything but pleasant. Natural, being the kind hearted (_weak, Dracul would have said_) person that I was, I sought to avoid the conflict.

Allowing my newly healed eyes to gaze around widely, I found my distraction.

"Hey, you're bleeding."

Her scrutiny, which had previously been focused on the doorway the good general had exited out of, snapped back to me. "What?"

"Your hand," I said, watching the crimson steam drip down the offending appendage. "Let me see."

After some initial hesitance, which I managed to overcome with a harsh look, she presented her left hand. Gently, I uncurled her fingers, revealing the source of the damage.

"Jesus, Alexandra." Four identical cuts had been driven into the palm of her hand. Any medical professional could provide you with a dozen excuses as to the origin of the wound, but as it happens, I was very familiar with this injury. I had suffered it a multitude of times, when Dracul requested I watched as he did something…unpleasant.

"What? The injury is of no consequence."

"Really," I eyed her disbelievingly. "Driving your fingernails so hard into your palm they draw blood rates pretty high in my book." I sighed at her lack of concern. "Heal it."

"It would be a waste of energy." She tried to pull her hand back, but I tightened my grip slightly. "It will heal sufficiently in a few days' time."

"It's better to take care of this now," I refuted. "I don't like seeing you hurt, I owe you too much." I let her hand go, watching it fall to her side pensively. Then an idea struck. "You said I'm like you. Can I heal it?"

She shook her head. "No, you're still al…" Pausing, I saw the wheels in her head begin to turn. "You're in a unique position, however." She walked to the side, obviously deep in thought. "And we know you can absorb energy, based on your debriefing. So why shouldn't you be able to?"

Turning to me, she pulled back to her full height (which still only came to my chin) and started at me resolutely. "Well, Warrant Marshall, you have a week before deployment. Be secure in the knowledge that I will ensure you are equipped with the best tools I can provide."

_You're gonna get pounded, Thompson_

* * *

**GAHAHSDHFHA**

**You ever try to write a paper, but it just won't work? That was this chapter for me. No matter how hard I worked on it, there was a distinct lack of synergy. In the end, I spent about 10 hours on this sucker, which should tell you all you need to know about my writing ability.**

**Anyway, happy thoughts. Also, Question time:**

5 Coloured Walker: **Hey, thanks for the review! Man, I think God is just a little bit above my writing ability at the moment, but I suppose that should stop me.**

sabba5600: **Thanks for your input! Damn, that brainwashing is crazy, right. I kinda viewed it as a sort of 'emergency surgery' as it were, to counter Dracul's random knife stabbings. On the subject of control, I want that to be a focus in this story. Both sides are trying to get Ark on their side, for various reasons. But who will win? **

sly bandit: **Whoa man, thanks for the analysis. Lets see…I agree Hackett needed a bigger role. He sorta a big deal, yet behind the scene, dude in cannon, so I wanted to get him some time here. Ahh yes, these 'Reapers', I have not dismissed that claim. ****Honestly, I started the story a bit too far back****. So much time without the reapers means I felt the need to bring in the coins in. The briefcase…OH S #T, THE BRIEFCASE!**

**On that note, I leave you. Please rate and review, but only if you want. This story is more yours than mine, so tell me the path you wish it to take!**

**See you soon, Space Cowboy.**


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